


cherry wine

by fleuravis



Series: with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Brief heterosexuality, Cheating, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Indie Music, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Shower Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-14 11:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleuravis/pseuds/fleuravis
Summary: Macusa's career is growing and Credence is growing up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> you all knew i couldn't stay away for long... so here's another multi-chapter instalment of this lil world
> 
> <3

Graves lies awake in bed, watching the thin slats of light from the window fall over Credence’s bare back, soft glowing patterns that he traces slowly with his fingertips. He’s taken to waking up before the boy ever since he returned, an anxious habit, as though Credence will slip away from him again while he sleeps. He never tires of these moments before he wakes, when he looks so peaceful and young, content and wrapped up in blankets no matter how warm it is. He sweats through summery nights under Graves’ duvet, the older man holding him at arms length, only able to bear a thin sheet himself. He wonders if it’s a learned behaviour, if Credence is so used to being cold and denied warmth his entire life that he seeks it out now, no matter the discomfort.

Credence shifts, turning slowly onto his back, blinking up at Graves with bleary eyes.

“Good morning,” Graves says softly, running the back of his hand affectionately down the boy’s cheek. 

Credence yawns, stretches his long body, arms folding over his head. “Morning. What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.” Graves pulls Credence close to him, squeezing him around the middle, burying his face in the back of his neck. “What do you want to do today?”

Credence hums, snuggling contentedly into Graves’ arms. “Stay here.”

It's a pleasant thought, but if Graves stayed in bed with Credence whenever he felt like it they would probably not have careers. He laughs quietly. “Gotta get up and be productive members of society, babe. We’ve got sessions coming up.”

Langdon had given them two options: record a short EP and head out on the road for a few weeks of touring, or get right into studio mode and record a full length. None of them feel that they’re ready for the latter; they haven’t written nearly enough and it seems rather daunting. So they’ve got four songs lined up, a couple weeks of recording and some shows planned for May. 

Credence groans, turning out of Graves’ grasp and onto his back, rubbing at his eyes. “We start Tuesday, right? Why does it have to be so _early_? How am I supposed to play guitar at seven a.m.?”

Graves ruffles his messy hair. “You’ve become such a layabout. How'd you manage to get up for school back in the day?”

Credence ignores him but rolls out of bed all the same. Graves follows him to the bathroom and leans against the doorframe, watching him lazily brush his teeth. Credence looks at him in the mirror with raised eyebrows and he chuckles. “Oh, I make you suffer, don’t I.”

 

They shower together, as they do most mornings, Graves washing Credence’s hair, soaping up his long limbs, running a razor down over the stubble between his legs until he’s smooth and fresh again. Credence had never been shaved before, of course, he’d barely been able to _look_ at himself down there for the shame of it. Graves had promised to keep him this way, always, when he saw how delighted Credence was the first time, relishing the sensitive softness of his skin after Graves shaved him bare.

Once they’re both clean and relatively awake, Graves makes pancakes, stacking them tall on Credence’s plate. He earns a sleepy smile in return before the boy digs in, stuffing his face as quickly as possible. Graves pets his head, amused. “Slow down, puppy. The food isn’t going anywhere.”

Another unconscious habit, one that Graves has pointed out before, causing Credence to flush and mumble awkward apologies. Finally he’d explained one night: food is a privilege in Mary Lou’s eyes, at least for him. Bad behaviour means less food, sometimes none at all. When she was feeling particularly cruel, his mother would yank a plate out from under him if he was eating too slowly. Now he eats as quickly as possible, giving himself a stomachache more often than not. Graves doesn’t mind constantly reminding him to take his time, rubbing his sore belly after he stuffs himself too full at dinner. 

When they’ve finished eating, Graves beckons him over to the sofa and brushes his hair behind his ear, scrutinizing the stitched up cut on his face. It’s definitely time for the stitches to come out; the wound looks more or less healed over. 

“Alright,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna take these out for you, okay?”

Credence whines and Graves shushes him, fetching a pair of tweezers and scissors from the bathroom. He settles in by Credence’s side and runs a hand slowly down the ladder of thread crossed through the boy’s skin. “Jesus, this must have hurt.”

Credence shrugs. “I’ve had much worse.”

“I believe you,” Graves sighs, “But I wish I didn’t. Okay, just stay still. This shouldn’t hurt.”

He tugs at each stitch with the tweezers until he can slip the scissors underneath and cut them loose, pulling them gently from his skin. Credence stays still and silent except for at the one slip of Graves’ hand, the edge of the scissors knocking against the healing cut. He winces and jerks away and Graves rubs his shoulder apologetically. It only takes five minutes until the stitches are all out.

“Good as new,” Graves says, rather proud of his handiwork. “You gonna tell me who did that godawful job stitching you up?”

“Hey,” Credence says defensively, “I think she did okay. It was either that or end up with thousands in medical bills.”

“Which I would have gladly paid,” Graves hums, “You know that.”

Credence ignores him. “Her name’s Mal. I stayed in a hostel when I… when I was gone. A waitress at Cosmic told me about the place and they gave me a bed for free. I had two roommates. Mal and a guy named Draco.”

Graves leans back into the cushions and pulls Credence down until his head is resting in the man’s lap, legs curled up on the couch. Graves runs his hand soothingly through the boy’s hair. “What’s their story?”

“They were waiting til they could move into an apartment,” Credence says vaguely, trying his best to recall what they told him that night. He had been too high to really comprehend it all. “They know Leta, the woman who runs the place. She gave them a discount. After I saw Ma and she threw the glass at me I went back and Mal was there. She stitched me up and made sure I didn’t die in my sleep from the concussion.”

Graves lets out a low breath, trying to calm the fury that rages inside him at the thought of Credence’s mother. He regrets every second of his interaction with the woman — his weak jabs that Tina and Newt had balked at seem tame now, far too kind in light of what she'd done to Credence that morning. If he could go back he would take her down himself, regardless of the consequences. “I’m glad she was there. What about the guy? Draco, was it?”

“Yeah, he’s nice,” Credence’s voice sounds distant. “He doesn’t let on very much about himself. But we had fun together. I have their numbers, I’d like to get in contact with them again sometime.”

“Hm.” Graves feels absurdly jealous. He swallows it down. “Maybe they’ll come to a show sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Just then Graves’ phone rings.

“Hey, Newt, I was just gonna text you about a practice.”

“Yeah! Um, listen. I’ve actually — hey, you want to come by the warehouse?”

“What’s going on?” Graves asks warily, his hand stilling in Credence’s hair. The boy looks up, questioning.

“Oh, nothing. Just want to run something by you and I think it’s best if I do it in person.”

 

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside the warehouse, Credence’s hair still half-damp, Graves in an uncharacteristic outfit comprised of sweatpants and a baggy old tee shirt. Newt and Tina are already inside, Newt staring intently at the screen of his laptop and Tina lounging on the couch, apathetically watching whatever Netflix series is playing on the new flat-screen TV they'd bought for the warehouse as a congratulatory gift to themselves. 

“Hey guys,” Credence says brightly, setting his guitar case down by the door.

“Credence!” Tina looks up with a smile, muting the TV. “How was the rest of your birthday?”

“Oh, it was… it was great.” Graves can _feel_ the pink tinge spreading up the boy’s neck. After dinner and drinks with Newt and Tina, the rest of Credence’s birthday celebrations had consisted of Graves taking the boy apart slowly and methodically for hours, making him whimper and cry and beg, bringing him to his body’s absolute limits of sensation. He had needed a long, hot bath afterwards, worn out, limp and weary. Tina catches the smug look on Graves’ face and rolls her eyes.

“Glad to hear it.”

Newt shuts his laptop. “So! Um.” He looks at Tina, who looks back at him. They seem to communicate an entire conversation, maybe an argument, in a mere ten seconds of facial expressions.

“What’s going on?” Graves demands. 

“We’re… we’re moving in together,” Newt says finally, smiling nervously, looking back and forth between Graves and Credence.

Until this moment, Newt and Tina haven’t even come close to admitting their relationship in any capacity. Graves can’t say he’s surprised that this is how they’d do it — an announcement out of the blue, approximately four years too late. He's almost more shocked they aren't declaring that they're already married.

“That’s great!” Credence says enthusiastically, “Congratulations, guys!”

“I know this might be a bit of a surprise…” Tina starts, but Credence and Graves cut her off.

“It’s not,” they say in unison, and then they glance at each other with matching smirks.

“Well then.” Newt looks a little perplexed. “Um, yes. So. We’re moving into our new apartment tomorrow if you two want to help out.”

Graves groans. “Is helping you move part of our duties as your band mates?”

“Well…” Newt begins at the same time as Tina sharply says: “Yes.”

“We’d love to help,” Credence pronounces, shooting Graves a look. Graves sends one back that says _hey, you’re signing yourself up. Don’t look at me._

 

They start rehearsing after, their first since the end of the tour. They’re noticeably rusty but they manage to laugh it off and make it through most of the songs. Graves shows them a few new ones he’s been working on and Credence improvises some riffs overtop while Newt sings nonsense into the mic, playing around with melodies. It finally feels like things are back to normal and Graves couldn’t be more relieved.

“So Langdon wants us there at seven on Tuesday,” Tina reminds them as they pack up, looping a cord up over her arm.

“Unfortunately we’re aware,” Graves tells her as Credence sighs, melodramatic.

“Hey, we should be able to get the songs done in about a week,” Newt says hopefully, “We’ve got the arrangements down pat. Just depends on the producer.”

Their new producer, Sirius Black, is renowned in the world of indie rock music and known for his left-field ideas and "unique" production style. From what Graves has heard, he's absolutely insane, and that makes him the best producer in all of New York and possibly North America as a whole. Graves is more than a little nervous to let someone else into their creative space — Macusa self-produced their first record and has never really had outsider input on their new songs. Langdon swears that Black is the best of the best, though, and so Graves decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s recently upgraded to a massive studio right by Universal’s New York headquarters and they’re about to call it home for the next two weeks.

“Sirius produced that Luna Lovegood girl’s new album and its fuckin’ incredible,” Tina reassures him, “I think he’ll be great.”

“She’s the one Langdon suggested for the tour, right?” Graves asks absently, scrolling through Black’s list of references on his website. The design professional but with a hint of the man’s style, deeply influenced by grunge music of the 90s, Graves assumes. He likes him already.

“I’m hoping she joins on,” Newt chimes in, “The album is great, you guys should listen to it. She’s only nineteen, I think.”

“These fuckin’ young prodigies, making me feel like I’m washed up already,” Graves mutters. Credence elbows him, smirking.

"You ready to go?” 

Graves tucks his phone away, grabbing his guitar. “Yep. We’ll see you guys tomorrow at eleven."

“Nine!” Tina shouts after him as they head out the door.

 

Since Credence has returned, things have felt a little different. On one hand, Graves is one hundred times more careful, trying his best to watch what he says and does, afraid to trigger the boy's anxiety, to hurt him unintentionally in some way. God knows he's good at that. On the other hand, Credence almost seems less delicate in a way, as if countering Graves' caution at every turn. He's quick to contradict Graves, to throw sarcastic little jokes at him, which were a rarity before and only ever came delivered in a padding of apprehension. He's still sensitive, still follows Graves' gentle orders and revels in being guided, instructed. He still sees much of the world through lenses of childish wonder; how they haven't been shattered by years of abuse and repression Graves doesn't know. Credence remains the same sweet and careful boy that he's always been, only now he's grown into himself a bit. Turning twenty has opened the door to a biting and witty personality that Graves had no idea was hiding behind the kid's timid demeanour. It doesn't always show itself, but when it does, Graves can't help but swell with pride.

He knows people look at Credence and see his wide-eyed nervousness, his chewed-lip anxiety, categorize him as yet another package of troubles and neuroses, not an uncommon trope in the array of spotlighted musicians of the world. He wishes he could stand on buildings with a megaphone, hire a plane to drag a banner through the sky, to tell them all that they're  _wrong_ , that he's so much more than that. He is so much more.

But he can't make anybody else see what he sees, and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's enough to be here, walking West 56th with a beautiful boy by his side, their intertwined hands tucked in the pocket of his coat, watching little snowflakes stick to his hair for just a moment before they melt away into nothing. Credence laughing and talking and pointing out street performers, persisting despite the cold, despite the slushy sidewalk. Leaning into him just slightly, as if it isn't a conscious decision, as if the gravity of his body has centred to Graves, orbiting him like a little moon. Maybe it's enough to just be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm slowly adding more harry potter characters as this universe expands haha
> 
>  
> 
> [hmu on tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Some days they will bask in the warmth of morning light through the Victorian window until the sheets are tangled and damp with sweat. Some days they wake with the sun, an infinite list of tasks to attend to, helping each other get ready for the day with slow hands, lazy kisses._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note the updated rating!!
> 
> more blasphemy, cause that's their ~thing~, though they're into it for slightly different reasons.

Since returning to Percy, Credence wakes every morning with a sigh of relief. His sleep is often plagued with nightmares: of being back at the hostel, only Gellert is waiting for him in every room; of walking into their apartment and realizing it’s the ramshackle old church-home, Ma standing tall in the doorway, belt in hand, silver buckle gleaming in the harsh light. Waking up breathless to find himself safely tucked into their bed, Percy's steady breath against his shoulder, nearly brings Credence to tears. The comfort of these simplicities is better than any gift — though that doesn't stop Percy from continuously trying to outdo himself with generosity, overwhelming Credence with the kind of luxuries he's never even imagined. The night following his birthday, mere hours after the guitar, Percy had surprised him with the newest model of Playstation, sleek and lit up and humming softly under the television; a packing box filled with games. They’re a little advanced for him but he wants to learn, if only to show his gratitude.

He tries not to play too often. He knows himself and his tendency toward overindulgence. A cardinal sin that seems innocent enough, he falls quickly into gluttony when he isn’t beset with hard limits. Credence doesn’t know what to do with unlimited anything — and so he takes as much as he can get, lest it be snatched away again. When Percy goes out for the day in the morning and comes back at nearly seven to find him still slack-jawed in the blue glow of the TV screen, he chastises him, making Credence want to die with embarrassment. Since then, he's been trying harder to keep himself under control.

  
Like most other mornings, Credence wakes to find Percy watching him. This is how it goes. He will open his eyes, tired and teary and sticky with sleep. Percy will kiss him, and then convince him to get out of bed, Credence sometimes playing up his stubbornness just to earn more kisses and affectionate persuasion. Some days they will bask in the warmth of morning light through the Victorian window until the sheets are tangled and damp with sweat. Some days they wake with the sun, an infinite list of tasks to attend to, helping each other get ready for the day with slow hands, lazy kisses.

Today is a somewhat early day. They shower together, luxuriating in the warm water, Percy holding Credence flush against his body and running the washcloth slowly across his skin. Credence shudders under his touch and Percy kisses his dripping shoulder. He flips Credence around so his arms are braced on the wall, head bowed. He gently tugs the boy’s right arm down and maneuvers his hand over his half-hard cock. Credence looks up in confusion but Percy coaxes his head back down with a hand on the nape of his neck.

“I want to watch you,” he murmurs. “You know I watched you before, right? Did you know?”

Credence’s stomach flips. Of course he knows. Of course he remembers. Percy had gone out for the morning and Credence couldn’t help himself, his greedy, insatiable body nagging at him until he relented, getting into the shower and handing himself over to the shame. He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult for him to touch himself, to allow himself such a simple pleasure, the quick release, the easy boost in endorphins. He has no problem letting Percy touch him, no guilt in their debauchery, but alone it feels sinful. Despicable. With Percy it feels like absolution.

He knows Percy saw him. It was written on his face, in his poor acting, pretending to have just then entered the apartment. He knows the man heard him praying, begging to be forgiven, an act of contrition rolling from his tongue. The thought makes the scene even more wicked in his memory.

“I remember,” he whispers.

“I want to see it again,” Percy tells him, lips against his back, “I think about it all the time.”

Credence whimpers and starts to stroke himself, toes curling against the shower floor, fist clenched tight where it rests on the wall. Fire running free through his body, making his stomach tighten.

“Credence,” Percy breathes, “Do you know how dirty you are? How sinful this is?”

“Stop,” Credence moans softly, “It’s not— I’m not—”

“To stand in the face of God and take your pleasure so selfishly,” Percy mutters, sounding almost like he believes it, “Is a sin. Credence, I want you to ask for forgiveness.”

Credence swallows, jerking in place, pulling on himself harder. Sometimes he worries that Percy really is reading his mind. It must be so foreign to him, the perpetual guilt, the hopeless devotion to a God he can never satisfy. Credence is more percipient than Percy may believe: he knows this is all a novelty to him, the whimpered prayers, the sick juxtaposition to their depravity. But something about it tugs at Credence's deepest and darkest places, lights a glowing fire in his belly, and so if this is what Percy wants, this is what Credence will give him. It takes a moment, and the man's warning grip on the back of his neck, but finally he speaks in a soft voice:

“Dear Lord, forgive me and heal me from th — the sexual sins which keep me from Heaven. Help me to remain… to remain on your path of righteousness and not to abuse,” Credence gasps, hips canting, and Percy smoothly reaches down and squeezes the base of his cock, drawing him back from the precipice of his orgasm. Credence whines, loins burning, desperate for release. 

“Keep going,” Percy says, letting go of his cock and sinking to his knees behind him.

“…not to abuse myself and my body,” Credence continues, voice shaking, “not to be sexually deviant and… and submit to the Devil. In your name I pray as I was taught, to say our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed—”

Percy is thumbing at his hole, spreading his cheeks apart, tugging at the dry rim. Credence hisses in pain and Percy retreats, slicking his finger with spit and rubbing circles around the outside of his entrance instead. 

“Hallowed be thy name,” Credence whimpers, “Thy kingdom come, thy will—”

He’s suddenly overcome with wet heat as Percy leans in and licks him _there_ , tongue flat and dragging long strokes over his hole. Credence moans at the strange new sensation, hand stilling on his cock, mouth gaping. Percy licks him vigorously, slipping one finger inside, starting to open him up.

“Thy will be done,” he mewls, “on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our-our trespasses as we… P-Percy...”

He can’t speak, his voice falling off as Percy mouths at him, sucking hard at his rim, making Credence wail with the peculiar pleasure. He has to stop touching himself completely to keep from coming but Percy reaches around again, vice grip on the base of his cock, Credence jolting in pain, Percy growling _keep going._

“As we forgive those who trespass against us.” He’s shaking now, his entire body on fire, his knees on the verge of giving out. He keeps jerking himself off but Percy has his fingers looped around the base of him, holding him back from release. Two fingers of his other hand are buried knuckle-deep in Credence’s ass, stretching him, a delicious sting soothed by his warm tongue. “And lead us not into t-temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory…”

Percy thrusts his tongue deep into Credence’s hole. Credence keens, legs collapsing, but Percy shoves him against cool tile, keeping him pressed upright to the wall. He releases the boy’s cock and Credence strokes himself desperately.

“Forever,” he gasps, eyes rolling, “And ever.”

His hips buck and he comes in thick ropes, his orgasm feeling infinite, never-ending, white bursts of light behind his eyes. He falls to his knees on the shower floor, keeling over, breathing hard. Then there are lips against his back, trailing down his bony spine. 

“Such blasphemy,” Percy murmurs, “We’re gonna make it through every common prayer within the year.”

Credence laughs then, a breathless and exhausted thing, shaking his head. “You’re awful. I’m definitely going to Hell.”

“I’ll appreciate the company.” Percy kisses his shoulder one more time and then stands. Credence lets himself be swaddled in a towel and enfolded in Percy’s arms, leaning his dripping head on the man’s shoulder. “You remember what you got us into for today?”

Credence smiles brightly. “Oh, yes, Percy, and I’m looking forward to it. I’m sure you are too.”

Percy shakes his head but he’s grinning. “You can help them move, I’ll oversee the operation with a beer and a sandwich.”

 

He’s all talk, of course. Percy carries his share of boxes, loading them out of the rented Uhaul truck and onto the sidewalk outside of Tina and Newt’s new home. It’s only a fifteen minute walk from Percy’s apartment — _our apartment,_ Credence reminds himself. A nice place, one half of a duplex, an old Victorian building but fully renovated inside. 

Tina drops the last box onto the kitchen floor and sits on it, letting out a puff of breath, wiping her sweaty forehead. “You’d think we could just, I don’t know, _pay_ someone to do all this for us. We are kinda rich now.”

“Takes away the whole experience,” Newt says, squeezing her shoulder. “Isn’t this fun?”

“Fun,” Percy agrees, cracking open a beer from one of several packs he brought over. “I call dibs on organizing your sex toy drawer.”

Newt flushes and busies himself with a box full of bubble-wrapped silverware. Tina smacks Percy with one of the books from the box she’s sitting on. “You can put all our books and records out. Be careful.”

As what seems to have been a compromise between Tina and Newt, they had someone furnish the place before they came to move in. All they have to do now is decorate, which in Credence’s opinion seems pretty fun anyway. He loves Percy’s apartment, he loves that he lives there now, but he has to conceal a shy smile when he imagines the two of them picking out a new home together, choosing furniture from a bright and fancy catalogue, decorating the place themselves, hanging paintings on the walls. 

He daydreams about it as he arranges the eclectic mix of Tina and Newt’s possessions in their kitchen — Tina’s wooden breadbox, Newt’s wicker fruit basket, the fancy coffee maker they bought together. Percy keeps coming up behind him and sneaking kisses along his jaw when the other two aren’t looking, making Credence blush and giggle, batting him away.

It takes them a few hours to get everything put away, and the apartment finally looks like a home. Newt insists that they all go for dinner and drinks on him, a thank you for their help. 

“I think Luna’s actually playing a show tonight,” Tina says, ten pages deep in their social media notifications, “Down at the Pig. We could go there after dinner if you guys wanna check her out, let Langdon know what you think.”

——  


 

Several hours later they're tucked together in a booth at the back of the Blind Pig, ordering cocktails, Percy ordering one for an overwhelmed Credence ( _Tom Collins, with grenadine, please, and Credence doesn't know what that means but figures it must be good if Percy chose it_ ), and  turning their attention to the stage as a soft electric tone begins to ring out.

The girl is sylphlike and airy, white blonde hair nearly opalescent under the stage lights. She’s staring out over the sea of heads in the crowd who’ve all begun swaying slowly to her gentle finger-picked tune. When she finally starts to sing the room quiets, her voice warm and honey-sweet, whispery but full at the same time. Credence is entranced immediately, mostly by the ease with which she draws such beautiful sounds from her pale blue Stratocaster. Her voice is just the cherry on top.

They sit in silence, nodding their thanks when the waiter drops off their drinks, barely even looking up at him. They’re all mesmerized by the small and unassuming girl on the stage who manages to fill the entire room with her ethereal presence.

“Wow,” Credence breathes when the song ends. The room roars with applause and the girl murmurs out a quiet _thank you._ “She’s… wow.”

“Cre’s got a crush,” Tina teases, “She went to Ilvermorny too, you know.”

“Really? I never saw her.” Credence is surprised. How could he have missed somebody so unique, so singularly talented in the monotonous crowd of classical elitists? 

“Does she seem interested in touring with us?” Graves asks, eyes still fixed on the stage where Luna is beginning her next song.

“Oh, for sure. Langdon said we just have to give him the okay and we’ll be all set. Apparently she’s a fan.” Tina finishes off her mojito and smiles at the waiter, a few tables away, gesturing to her glass. He scurries off to get her another one.

By the time Luna’s set is finished, Credence is pleasantly tipsy from the Tom Collins, whatever that was, and a vodka-spiked pink lemonade that he'd pointed to shyly when Percy asked if he wanted another. Percy is throwing back his fourth Jack and Coke, having downgraded slightly after two expensive martinis. Tina is watching him warily and Credence grips his arm, half protective and half embarrassed.

_He’s fine,_ he wants to say, feeling a little annoyed, _It’s Percy. Of course he’s fine._

He desperately wants to seek out Luna and speak to her. He’s never been more intrigued and enamoured by a musician this way — she seems so _real_ , a rarity among many he’s encountered. Real, unlike the pretentious and phony Ilvermorny crowd, unlike Gellert, unlike anyone. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Percy, and he slips out of the booth, weaving his way through the loud and bustling crowd. It’s just past midnight and the place is packed, the patrons getting rowdier as their tabs go up. He finds Luna kneeling in the shadowy alcove to the side of the stage, fastening the lock on her guitar case. His momentary bravery and determination wanes and leaves him feeling awkward and anxious once again. She looks up and he freezes.

“Hi,” she says, her voice warm and friendly. 

“Hi,” Credence says, feeling dumb. “Your set was amazing. You play beautifully, I’m… I’m so impressed, I can’t even tell you.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Credence, by the way. I’m in Macusa.”

“I know who you are,” she tells him, smile peppered with a hint of mischief. “I’m a big fan.”

Credence laughs nervously. “Thank you. As soon as you started I couldn’t look away. Tina, my drummer, she told me you went to Ilvermorny?”

Luna nods. “I think I saw you once or twice. I was a year behind you, I’d only just started when you left. I got in when I was eighteen.”

“Did you drop out as well?”

“It’s a good school, it really is,” She says with a sigh, “They just… they told me everything I was doing was wrong. Always the wrong way to sing, the wrong way to breathe, to position my hands, all of it. I didn’t want it to interfere with my writing.”

“You’re gonna make it big,” Credence tells her, “And none of it will matter. I swear.” He turns, glancing back to the booth where his bandmates are pulling their coats on. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, but I heard you might be coming on tour with us.”

Luna nods, looking a little shy. “I would love to.”

“I’m gonna make sure it happens,” Credence promises, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He trots back to where Percy is waiting for him by the door, holding his coat. He helps Credence get it on, though he’s swaying slightly in place.

“You’re too drunk,” Credence murmurs, leaning into him as they head out the door.

“I’m _not_ ,” Percy protests, “Only… I donno. A couple drinks.”

“You talked to Luna?” Tina prompts, “What’s she like?”

“She’s great,” Credence says enthusiastically, grateful for the change of subject.  “She’s gotta come on tour with us. She’s gonna be huge. I can’t believe she’s still playing shows at this place.”

Percy ushers him into a cab and Newt and Tina wave goodbye, waiting to hail their own. Once in the backseat Percy won’t take his hands off Credence, feeling him up beneath his coat, whispering filthy things against his ear and his cheek.

“Per- _cy_ ," Credence protests, trying to squirm away, “Wait til we’re home.” The driver is glaring at them in the rearview mirror and Credence flushes, embarrassed.

“I’ll do what I want,” Percy growls, reaching into his pocket and thrusting a handful of bills into the passenger seat. The driver raises his eyebrows and then turns his gaze back to the road. Money really can buy anything, even privacy from three feet away when your wasted boyfriend has got one hand down your pants and his whole tongue in your mouth.

By the time the cab pulls up outside of their apartment Credence is panting, struggling to zip up his pants as Percy hands over even more cash and then practically drags him out the door. The half-minute trip upstairs feels like hours and when they get there Percy throws him onto the bed, carelessly popping buttons as he rips open his shirt, teeth closing on one sensitive nipple and making Credence whine loudly. He plays with Credence’s chest until the boy is splotched with pink and red, his whole body heaving with every breath, hard and straining through his pants. 

Percy traces at Credence's plush lips with his thumb, slipping it inside, going deeper until the boy sucks, rolling his tongue around him.

“My good boy,” Percy slurs, “So good. ‘Cept when you make me jealous, you little minx.”

Credence laughs, muffled around Percy’s thumb. It slips from his mouth. “What are you talking about?"

“You an’ that girl,” he purrs, dropping his body down over Credence’s, lips close to his ear. Credence can feel his breath, hot and slow, making the tiny hairs on his neck stand up. “You know what you do to me, puppy.”

“Percy, you know it’s not like that,” he says uncomfortably, “I’m _gay._ You know that, right? Have you figured it out by now?”

Percy grins, grabbing Credence’s face with one hand, squishing his cheeks together. “Don’t sass me, you brat.”

Credence smiles weakly but twists out from under him, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off and slipping out of his pants. “I’m tired, Percy, and you’re too drunk. I’m going to sleep.”

“Not too drunk,” Percy says with a frown, “Don’t be like that, baby, why're you being like that?”

“Not being like anything,” Credence mumbles, cuddling up to him with a yawn. “Let’s just sleep.”

He feels decidedly exhausted, his erection waning and the arousal receding from his bloodstream. It’s not that it bothers him when Percy drinks, he just _worries._ He tells himself it’s stupid, just more of his dumb nonsensical thoughts, because it’s Percy. He’s always okay, he can always handle himself. But he gets rough when he’s drunk, he’s not as nice as he usually is. Credence doesn't mind being manhandled; he likes to be thrown around, to be overpowered and dominated. It’s just different when Percy’s drunk. It’s like he isn’t doing it for Credence anymore.

They’re dumb thoughts, Credence just can’t stop thinking them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeehehehheheh here we go
> 
> [hmu on tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Black Recording Studios becomes their home away from home for the following two weeks. Graves feels like he barely leaves the place besides to eat and - occasionally - sleep. They’re all drained by the end of it, and Newt even snaps at Graves for the first time in the history of their friendship. It’s mostly just funny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a recording musician myself, writing about macusa in the studio brings me so much joy hahah
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)

Sirius Black is fiercely loud and excitable, dark eyes shining with a feral sort of vehemence, and Graves can tell right away why Langdon endorses him so enthusiastically. They’re cut from the same cloth of passion and zeal, though Langdon keeps a more professional and business-like front where Sirius is free to hide away in his cavernous studio, the rings around his dancing eyes indicating many long nights of recording and editing, in grungy clothes that must be a choice considering the price tag affixed to the man’s time.

He has a scratchy and spirited voice and he talks at one hundred miles an hour, dissecting the band’s demos beat by beat and throwing ideas haphazardly into the air. How he manages to keep track of it all is beyond Graves. He glances over at Credence, catching the little smile playing at the boy’s lips. He’s excited, Graves can tell — he’s never worked in a studio of any kind before, and here he is confronted with somebody who can bring his writing to life, draw the sounds out of him and immortalize them forever on a track.

Graves takes a liking to Black as well, though he’s still half asleep, considering it’s barely past seven in the morning. How the man is so energetic at this time is a wonder; he probably just doesn’t sleep at all. 

“So we’ll start by laying down a scratch track. It’s a live take along to a metronome, you’ll use that as your guide for the individual parts,” he explains, “And then I like to do drums first, then guitar and bass, vocals last. Then we can add whatever else on top.”

“Sounds good,” Tina quips, rising from where she’d been twirling back and forth on her stool. They all head through the door into the other half of the room where Sirius can see them through a large glass pane where he sits behind a wide and expansive mixing board. Four different computer monitors line the wall and his eyes dart back and forth between them as he sets up. 

The first song they’re recording is one they wrote prior to Credence joining the band, though he contributed quite a bit once he heard the demo. Where it had originally started with a drum intro, he now floats in a sweet and echoing guitar melody; where there had been a rather flat and uninteresting bridge, he now plays a harmonic solo that builds into the climactic final chorus. Graves looks over and sees his fingertips ghosting over the strings as he mumbles the lyrics to himself. Practicing. His heart warms at the sight. How Credence could ever possibly be nervous, Graves doesn’t know — the kid is so talented, he doesn’t think he’s seen him make a single mistake in all the time he’s known him. 

The metronome starts and Sirius shoots them a thumbs up. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” comes the voice over the intercom.

Credence takes a slow breath and begins, sliding from note to note in time with the clicking beat, the dreamy sound soaring from the guitar. Tina comes in with a kick-driven marching beat and then Graves picks up just as Newt’s voice rings out from the vocal booth.

The song fades out, just under four minutes long, and Sirius waits until the very last sound dissipates before stopping the click track and grinning at them through the glass.

“Fuckin’ brilliant. Get in here.”

They all scurry back over to his side and take a seat to listen back. It sounds solid, though they each have a few moments of grimacing at small mistakes, slip ups.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” Sirius tells them, “This whole track will be wiped out once we get the basics down. It’s just to play along to. Tina, you’re gonna go first and lay down the drums. Sound good?”

Five hours later they have the skeleton of the track, at least beginning to show signs of life. It takes Tina, rather tired so early in the morning, over two hours to get the drums right, and by the end of it she’s sweating and frustrated, clenching and unclenching her hands rhythmically, palms bright red. Credence, apparently having practiced more than any of the rest of them, plays flawlessly through the first layer of guitar in one go. The chords overtop take a little longer, Sirius poring closely over the screen of the monitor, fiddling with knobs to get the perfect tone. At twelve, he sends them off for lunch.

“A well deserved break,” he declares, “Meet me back here at one thirty?”

 

They eat at a diner around the corner, Graves downing several cups of coffee, Credence devouring a plate of fruit-smothered waffles. 

“Langdon just emailed us,” Tina tells them through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, one hand clutching a fork and the other scrolling on her phone. She swallows, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Sorry. Anyway, he said Luna’s confirmed for the tour. He’s gonna start booking, he’s thinking around fifteen dates. Just the big cities. Middle two weeks of May.”

“Sounds good to me,” Graves replies, stealing a forkful of Credence’s waffle. The boy offers over his half-eaten plate, hand on his belly. Graves smiles and accepts it — Credence’s eyes are always far bigger than his stomach.

They manage to finish the entire song that day, leaving the studio just after seven in the evening. Sirius is known for his quick turnaround time, and promises to have an initial mix ready by the time they come back for their afternoon session tomorrow. They thank him and head out, piling into Tina’s brand new SUV.

“You’re such a mom,” Graves teases her, “You coulda bought any car with that money and you choose the soccer mom classic.”

“It’s spacious and convenient,” she whines, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Alright, now, settle down,” Newt says, amused, “It is a great car, sweetheart.”

Credence is tucked into the back seat next to Graves, staring dreamily out the window. Graves puts an arm around him and Credence leans into his shoulder. “How’d you like your first day in the studio?”

“So cool,” Credence breathes, with all the wide-eyed vigor of a child on his first trip to an amusement park.

 

When they get home, Graves checks over the emails from Langdon, a new one having just popped up. He’s made a detailed list of cities, venues and accommodations, even including some highly rated restaurants in the area and tourist sites for their days off. _Chicago, Los Angeles, Seattle, Detroit, Philadelphia, Dallas, Atlanta…_ it seems they’ll be circling the entire country, as well as dipping into Canada for shows in Toronto, Montreal and Vancouver. Graves makes a mental note to finish filling out Credence’s passport application. The venues listed are bigger than those on their first tour with Deathly Hallows and Graves feels smug at the thought. He hasn’t heard much about them recently, their new record didn’t chart well and he’s sure Gellert is furious seeing all of the media attention Macusa’s been getting.

Credence had begged him not to go after Gellert for the photograph, telling him it would only cause more problems, would only encourage him to fuck with them further. Graves had conceded if only to appease the boy, but if the image ever makes a reappearance he’s going to destroy Gellert along with the dregs of his pathetic career.

He shuts his laptop and heads into the bedroom, where Credence is already curled up in bed, Graves’ battered copy of _Gatsby_ clutched in his hands. 

“Still chipping away at that one, huh?”

Credence looks up, a little embarrassed. “I’m a slow reader. I’m sorry.”

Graves feels guilty instantly. “Just messing with you, puppy. I just meant that you seem to really like it.”

“I do,” Credence says earnestly, “I’m on the last few pages. Just let me finish. Then I’ll tell you about it."

Graves has read the book several times himself since initially studying it in high school. He doesn’t at all mind the thought of Credence recounting the story to him, though. He settles into bed beside him, watching him read. Credence is so focused that he barely notices Graves’ attention on him.

After fifteen minutes, he finishes the last page and closes the book, setting it down on the bedside table. He turns to Graves with a smile. “I love the ending. It’s so sad, though.”

“It’s a sad book,” Graves agrees, “One of my favourites. I have some more I think you’d like. I’ll have to dig them up.”

Credence flips himself over and squirms back into Graves’ arms, claiming his preferred role as the little spoon. Graves kisses his ear, his neck, and Credence sighs. “I wanna make out but I’m so sleepy.”

Graves laughs quietly. “We have plenty of time tomorrow, baby. Get some sleep. You did so well today.”

Credence’s soft little _thank you_ is lost in the still room as he drifts into sleep.

 

——

 

Black Recording Studios becomes their home away from home for the following two weeks. Graves feels like he barely leaves the place besides to eat and - occasionally - sleep. They’re all drained by the end of it, and Newt even snaps at Graves for the first time in the history of their friendship. It’s mostly just funny.

On the last day, as they’re lounging in Sirius’ side of the studio listening back to the full EP, Credence falls asleep on Graves’ shoulder. Graves nudges him a couple times but the boy keeps nodding off, unable to keep his weary eyes open. It’s a relief to be done. As much fun as it has been to record these songs, Graves doesn’t think any of them could go much longer working tirelessly, playing the same riffs over and over, perfecting every single note.

They invite Sirius to meet them for celebratory drinks that night — _after a nap, of course,_ Graves grins, wrapping an arm around Credence’s drooping shoulders.

After a couple hours of sleep they head out to meet him at a bar near Central Park. Sirius turns out to be quite the drinker and he matches Graves, shot for shot, as the rest of the band roll their eyes and sip their fancy cocktails. 

“Weaklings,” Sirius teases, “All of ya.”

Graves is getting concerned glances from Credence which he pointedly ignores. The kid has been weirdly on edge lately whenever he drinks — maybe Tina has put thoughts in his head, he knows she’s always over the top dramatic about his relationship with alcohol.

_I’m a fuckin' musician,_ he thinks, _is there a 27 year old musician in the world who isn’t drinking themselves blind on any given weekend?_

They stay out until the early hours of morning when the bar shoos them away. Closing time. Credence is falling asleep on his shoulder again, one arm looped around his elbow, leaning precariously off of his bar stool. 

“Great to hang with you, Sirius,” Graves says, his voice a little jumbled after a few too many whiskey shots. “You’re a fuckin’ genius."

“Back ‘atcha, Percy,” Sirius claps him on the back. “Look forward to doing that full length. I’ll be in touch.”

Graves tries to hail a cab but Credence tugs his hand down. “Let’s walk. It isn’t far. You’ve gotta sober up.”

“What happened to you, you used to be such a lightweight,” Graves goads him, wrapping an arm around his waist, squeezing him a little. 

“I had two drinks over four hours,” Credence says wryly, “I’m fine. How many did you have, ten? Eleven?”

“Fuck knows,” Graves laughs, loud and sharp, hand slipping down to squeeze Credence’s ass. “Just wanna take you home, baby, let’s get a cab.”

“No, we can walk,” Credence says firmly, but he leans into Graves’ body, letting himself be felt up. The boy may be trying to play the role of the responsible adult for once in his life but he still can’t resist Graves, and that makes him feel smug.

They do get home fairly quickly and Credence busies himself in the kitchen, filling a glass with tap water and searching their cabinets for aspirin while Graves flops down onto the unmade bed. 

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” Credence says as he perches on the sheets beside him, one cool palm resting on his forehead after it presses the glass of water into his hands.

“You’re the sweetest, puppy,” Graves slurs, “I love you so much. You know that? You’re so good, you did such a good job this week. I’m so proud.”

Credence laughs. “Thanks, Percy. I try my best.” He shucks off his jeans and pulls the blanket over them, straightening it out as well as he can and then wrapping himself around Graves like a koala. Graves can feel his quick little heartbeat, his warm breath on Graves’ neck.

“You know you don’t have to worry about me, right?” Graves murmurs, “I can handle my drinks, baby.”

Credence doesn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes percy get it together!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Credence doesn’t know quite what drives him to do what he does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna surprise you guys real hard in this one and i'm sorry in advance for that hahah

The first show of Macusa's tour is at a lofty venue in downtown Pittsburgh. As they walk the city streets, Credence fondly recalls the last time they were here: the first night of their tour with Deathly Hallows. He’d been completely terrified, out of his depths, and Percy had brought him out for his first dinner in a restaurant, taken him shopping, dropped nearly one thousand dollars on him in less than two hours. He’d been entirely overwhelmed. He feels so much older now, plenty more experience under his belt, though he's still embarrassingly entranced by every aspect of his new lifestyle.

This tour is bound to be better than the first, for several reasons: first of all, he and Percy are no longer skirting around their feelings, suffering through the misunderstandings and arguments they had at first. Secondly, their tour companion isn’t Gellert, targeting and manipulating him, but Luna, who is sweet and kind and talented. Lastly, they’re headlining — and as Percy says, they’re _calling the shots_. 

That matters more to Percy, but because it does, it matters to Credence. Above all else, most important than anything, is that Percy is unflinchingly, shamelessly by his side. Standing beside him against the wall to watch the opening acts, one arm protectively around his waist. Waking him up with kisses, pinning his hands above his head and checking the blinking red numbers on the alarm clock to see if they have time to fuck before Newt and Tina show up at their door. Spending their free time exploring the cities together, trying food that Percy loves and Credence has never even heard of, shopping and visiting various galleries where Percy grumbles about how certain things just _shouldn’t qualify as art._

Credence tries to include Luna in some of their ventures outside of the shows. He can tell Percy is a little bit jealous of his blossoming friendship, though the man will never admit it. Credence can sense it though, in the look on his face whenever Credence talks excitedly about Luna and all of their similarities. It's just that Credence has never really had a friend before.  In Luna, Credence has found a kindred spirit, someone he can talk to in a way that he can’t really talk to Tina and Newt. He talks to Percy about everything, of course, but it’s different. Luna went to Ilvermorny; she understands. She grew up not abused but distant from her single father and doesn’t have much of a concept of home. That's something Credence can relate to — as much as he’s come to adore the apartment he lives in with Percy, he still catches himself thinking _Percy’s apartment._ He even pays rent now, which he’d insisted on, and yet still he feels like somewhat of a guest.

While the rest of Macusa is getting dinner at a cafe across the street, Credence hangs back with Luna in their backstage room, folding tables lined with a free-for-all of food along the wall. They pop crisp green grapes in their mouths and drink soda — juice for Luna, who says the carbonation makes her voice crack. 

“I don’t mean to pry, but are you with Percy Graves?”

Credence still feels that familiar little flush of nervous pride at the question. “Yeah. We’ve been living together since November.”

“Ah.” Luna always has this look on her face like she’s mildly surprised. Credence has learned not to register it as actual confusion. “He seems very nice. I haven’t spoken to him much yet.”

“He’s great,” Credence says, “After our first tour he took me in because I couldn’t really go back home to my Ma, there are some… issues. And then we kind of just ended up. Yeah.” The flush is back and Credence coughs, tucking his face down, checking his phone. 

The door squeaks open and Percy steps in, smiling at the sight of him. “Cre, we’re gonna soundcheck in a few minutes. Hey, Luna. You excited for tonight?”

“Oh yes,” she says earnestly, “I haven’t played a show nearly this big before.”

Credence finishes off his drink and hops up from the couch, joining Percy by the door. “You wanna come along, Luna? You’ll probably have to soundcheck soon anyway.”

“I’ll catch up!” She smiles brightly. “See you out there.”

Credence waves his goodbye and saunters off with Percy, headed down the hall to the stage door. His guitar is tucked away safely in its case — he’s hesitant to leave it out anywhere, even for the short period of time between load in and soundcheck. He’ll admit to being precious with it for good reason; it’s certainly the most valuable thing he’s ever owned. 

The icy blue body of the guitar sparkles under the stage lights as he gently lifts it from the velvet lining of the case. He loops the intricately woven floral-patterned strap over his neck and plugs in, the crackle of the metal jack sending a little spark of excitement coursing through his body. No matter how many shows they play, it never gets old: the realization that this is what he does now, this is what he gets to do, hopefully forever. 

They run through segments of a couple songs, checking levels, and Luna appears in the doorway just as they’re finishing up the last one.

“That sounds amazing,” she says as he approaches her, “I can’t wait to watch your set. I’ve only seen you in videos.”

He barely has time to respond before she’s being beckoned on stage to soundcheck herself. She doesn’t have a touring band, her entire act is simply her and her guitar, but even so and even in raw-level snippets, she fills the room easily. 

“She’s talented,” Graves says as they lean against the wall, watching her play through a few lines of a song Credence recognizes from that night he’d first seen her play. “You two have gotten close?”

“Mm,” Credence hums, eyes focused on the stage, “Yeah, we’ve been talking.”

 

The place fills up once the doors open. The show is nearly sold out according to the sale count Langdon sent them, and Credence is grateful that people aren’t lagging behind and showing up for only the main act — Luna has a crowd of hundreds. She plays beautifully and Credence watches from side stage, a vodka cranberry clutched in his fist, condensation from the plastic cup wetting his fingertips. He doesn’t get a chance to speak to her before they have to head onstage themselves, walking out to a thunderous crowd of screaming fans. Credence shoots Percy a disbelieving look and the man just grins, shaking his head. Credence can hear his thoughts clearly in his own mind: _Here we are. This is it._

After their set they collapse onto the couches of their dressing room, exhausted from playing for more than an hour. The fans had screamed for an encore and so they’d improvised, playing a couple new songs on top of the planned set.  Not having to pack up their own gear is a very new and rather nice concept, though Credence still feels a little twinge of shame at the sight of the crew members disassembling their equipment.

“They’re getting paid tons,” Percy murmurs to him, arm around his shoulders, “Don’t look so guilty.”

They all sneak out the stage door where their tour bus is parked and waiting outside, but they find a sea of eager fans blocking the way to the vehicle. The bodies part solemnly, nervously as the band steps outside, staring wide-eyed and hopeful. Credence doesn’t know what to do; he never expected anybody would wait around to talk to him. He glances frantically at Percy but Newt darts out in front, opening his arms. 

“Hello, everybody!”

Credence’s voice is drowned out in the ring of voices - _hi Newt! Will you sign my CD? Great show, Newt! You sounded so good! I love you! Will you take a photo with me? -_ as he whispers his surprise to Percy. Percy rubs back soothingly and he braces himself to be approached.

They spend nearly forty minutes standing on the sidewalk and talking to fans. Credence does his best to get to everybody, smiling awkwardly for photos and signing records with his messy scrawl. He has a few people ask questions about his guitar or his music education, thankfully something he can actually _respond_ to. He doesn’t know quite what to say when people tell him they love him. He had a hard enough time saying it back to Percy.

Even Luna is posing for photos, looking nearly as terrified as Credence feels. He offers her a reassuring smile and she returns it. 

To Credence’s relief, their new tour manager Remus finally calls out that the band is tired, and if the fans want them to keep playing shows they’re going to have to let them go to bed. Credence likes Remus a lot. He’s enthusiastic without being over the top; he’s understanding and makes sure to fit enough rest time into their schedule. Langdon had called a meeting the week before they left, telling them that as much as he wishes he could come along on tour himself, he’s got far too much boring office work to do and has to assign them a tour manager to keep them on track. Remus, a good friend of Sirius', has been travelling the country with various bands since he was barely old enough to drink.

Back at the hotel, they’re all too excited to go to sleep — it’s only just about eleven, anyway, the show didn't end too late. After Remus briefs them on their schedule for tomorrow they hang out in the hotel bar, drinking and talking until Credence, watching his alcohol intake, is rather tired and Percy is wasted. Credence bites his tongue, not wanting to start a fight, but also not wanted to spend another night worrying over his shit-faced boyfriend.

Luna seems to sense his trepidation. “Do you want to come hang out in my room for a bit?” She asks as they walk through the lobby to the elevators.

“Sure,” he says, trying not to sound too relieved lest his bandmates hear.

Graves looks like he wants to protest but Credence puts a hand on his cheek and kisses him slow, deep. “I love you, Percy. You need to sleep. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get back.”

Leaving no room for an argument, he quickly follows Luna to her room.

Once inside he collapses into the enormous bed on his back, letting out a long breath. He stretches, limbs aching from exhaustion. “I love touring but it does take it out of you, at least 'til you catch your second wind. Then you’re kind of running on adrenaline 'til you get home and crash.”

Luna sits cross-legged beside him, handing him a cup of water with a smile. “Was the Deathly Hallows tour your first one?”

Credence cringes a little, taking a sip. “Yeah. It was still good, despite. You know.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Despite…?”

“Never mind.” Credence shakes his head, rising up to sit back against the pile of firm pillows. “Have you always wanted to be a musician? I mean, obviously you took lessons if you went to Ilvermorny, but have you always wanted to write your own music?”

She considers for a moment. “Yes, I think so. For a while I wanted to be an astronaut, and then a veterinarian.” She gives him a wry smile. “Then I hit puberty, and the emotions started raging out of control and all the poetry just came tumbling out of me.”

“Very poetic,” he agrees, raising his cup in toast. “To the inability to properly cope and process.”

Luna laughs, a sweet and melodious sound, raising her cup as well. “You’re funny, Credence.”

“I don’t get that a lot,” he smirks, “So thanks.”

“Your Percy seemed pretty drunk,” she says, and he feels a little twinge of guilt at the title. _My Percy. Whom I left alone, sent off to bed by himself, on the first night of our tour together._

“Yeah, he…” Credence sighs. “I don’t know. When I started playing in Macusa it was like culture shock. A whole new universe. Alcohol is a pretty fresh concept for me. I don’t know if I should be worried or not.”

“You have every right to worry,” Luna tells him, “It can be very dangerous. He seems smart, but you never know.”

“He’s always been a drinker, but it’s just been a lot, recently, you know?” Credence says weakly, “He gets kind of angry any time I bring it up.”

“Addicts are defensive about their addictions.”

“He’s not an _addict_ ,” Credence snaps, and then he winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound angry.”

Luna’s smile doesn’t waver. “You’re a very kind person, Credence. I understand that you’re upset.”

Desperate to change the subject, Credence wracks his mind for the content of their previous conversations. “You never finished telling me about your Dad,” he says finally, “You just told me you guys are distant.”

“Ah, I…” she stares down at the near-empty cup of water in her hands, biting at her lip in thought. “I don’t know if that’s the right word. He loves me, he really does, you know? He’s just a strange man.” She looks up with a playful grin. “Not that that’s a bad thing. I think all artists are strange.”

“He’s an artist?”

“He’s a writer,” she clarifies, “He writes for this ‘ _free thinkers_ ’ newspaper. It’s really just an anarchist publication. I don’t think very many people actually read it. But he believes in it so strongly, it’s all he talks about, all the conspiracies and inner workings of the government that he’s certain he’s got figured out.” She sighs. “It’s hard to talk to him, that’s all. He means well.”

“I’m sure he does,” Credence says lamely. “How about your Mom? You didn’t tell me…” He imagines a cold and aloof woman, no doubt inspired by his own predisposed notions about mothers, leaving her struggling political artist of a husband when his ideas got just a little too crazy.

“She died,” Luna says, cutting him off mid-thought. He looks up at her and her face is blank for the first time, the round-eyed wonder vanished.

“I’m so sorry,” he tries to say, but it comes out as a whisper. “Luna, I didn’t mean to push.”

All at once the glow is back in her expression. “Oh, you didn’t,” she says, “I don’t mind talking about it. There isn’t much to say. I was young. Just about seven.”

“What happened?” He asks, and then quickly adds, “If you, you know. If you don’t mind me asking.”

She smiles grimly. “Alcohol.”

“Oh.” He feels very, very stupid. They sit in silence for a moment and then he speaks, trying to somehow make her feel better, or maybe just relate in the way that children of trauma do. “My mother hit me. A lot. Um, I’m not trying to take away from your story, I just thought… yeah. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Credence,” she says softly, “I don’t have much to say about my mother, honestly. But can we talk about yours?”

This is new, this wording, the gentle prompting: _can we talk_ instead of _do you want to talk_. _Do you want to talk_ means making a decision, it means he has to choose. He rarely does.  _Can we talk_ makes him feel like he’s helping in some way, like he’s doing the right thing, because somebody else wants to talk about it. It’s relief, weight lifted from his fragile chest.

“Okay,” he says timidly, “Um. I don’t know where to start.”

“What’s the first thing you remember?” She asks, her voice pacifying and smooth.

He leans back into the headboard and she watches him carefully. Somehow it's more comforting than terrifying.

“She adopted me after my parents died, but I don’t remember that. She’s always been my mother for as long as I can think back. Um. She never really liked me much. She thought that I was tainted by the Devil, she still thinks that, even more so now. She was strict with my sisters too but it was more like she just wanted them to behave properly. Like they really had a chance. She never really thought that for me.”

“Hm, well look where you are now,” Luna says, and that draws a smile to his face.

“Yeah. See, it was more like she was just punishing me for being alive. For having feelings, and like, having basic needs. If I cried, I got hit harder. If I let on that I was hungry, she’d starve me for longer. If I really upset her,she’d throw me in the cellar and leave me in there for days.”

Luna looks aghast. “Credence, I’m so sorry. She _starved_ you?”

“ _Suffering draws the Devil out,_ ” Credence quotes ruefully, “ _Pain breeds repentance_.”

She shakes her head. “I hope you don’t still believe that.”

“It’s hard to let go of,” he admits, “But I think I’m getting better. Um. The best thing she ever did for me was put me in music lessons, because she wanted me to play classical guitar for the church. Eventually I was supposed to be sent off to this program to play at churches all around the country.”

“Sounds like a miserable tour,” Luna says, and Credence laughs.

“Yeah. Tell me about it. So I started at Ilvermorny when I was sixteen, but it was never the right place for me. I had one teacher who I loved and really taught me things but the rest… not really.”

“Moody,” Luna says with a smirk. Credence raises his eyebrows.

“How did you know?”

“Figured,” she muses, “He takes to the outcasts. I had a class with him once and he taught me more than all the rest of my teachers combined.”

“Yeah, sounds like Moody. He made it worth it. But then one day I saw an ad online from Macusa cause they needed a guitar player. I had no idea who they were but it seemed like a God-sent chance to get out. So I emailed Percy and kinda auditioned and… here I am.”

“Here you are,” she smiles, “And how glad I am for it.”

He feels himself blushing a little. “There’s a whole long story about Ma’s insanity that happened more recently but I’ll spare you the details. She isn’t very happy with me, that’s the verdict of it all.”

Luna scoots over to sit beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “She never deserved to have a son like you, Credence. It was bad luck that you ended up with her but most people would never go anywhere, they’d become abusers themselves or they’d end up offing themselves in some cliche ending to the same old tragic narrative. You’re making something of yourself. You should be so proud.”

Her hand trails up to where his hair falls loosely into his eye and brushes it aside, running her fingertip down the silvery-pink scar. "Who did this?"

_Not 'what happened'. 'Who did this'. Like she knows already, like she can see it reflected in his dark and mournful eyes._   


"My mother," he whispers. 

Credence doesn’t know quite what drives him to do what he does. Maybe it’s the sense of a truly understanding friendship, which he’s never really had in all his life. Maybe it's the way the pad of Luna's finger feels so soft against his forehead as she traces the line of his scar. Maybe it’s the three drinks he finished back in the bar. Maybe it’s the confusion of his current state, his concern for Percy and his uncertainty of their future. 

Luna doesn’t exactly jump when he kisses her, but she startles. It’s a gentle and nervous thing, his mouth tentatively pressing to hers, moving slowly — her lips are soft and sugar-sweet and after a moment she responds, opening her mouth the slightest bit, peeking her tongue out hesitantly to taste his own. He deepens the kiss, one hand reaching up to weave fingers through her silky blonde hair, resting on her cheek, rosy skin warm against his palm.

After a moment he drifts back, looking at her with wide eyes. “Luna… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she kisses his cheek and then hops off of the bed and busies herself at the small sink, refilling her cup with water. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

He feels cold in the pit of his stomach. _Percy._ “I think I should go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

He creeps down the hall to his room, checking his phone on the way. Just after one in the morning. The heavy door opens silently and he slips inside. The lights are off but as he makes his way to the bed he hears a rustling of sheets, a soft yawn.

“Credence?”

“Hi,” he whispers, “Sorry for waking you.”

“C’mere.” In the dark, he sees just the outline of Percy as he opens his arms, beckoning Credence into bed. He quickly gets undressed and kicks off his shoes and socks, crawling in beside him, into his embrace. “How’s Luna?”

Credence squirms uncomfortably. “Good.”

Percy can always read him, even in the pitch black room, even when he barely utters one syllable. Even when he’s drunk, his voice slurring slightly. “Wha’s wrong?” 

“Percy…” he begins, “I don’t know why this happened or what it means, I mean, it doesn’t mean anything, but I just don’t know what it meant in the moment, I—”

Percy is suddenly much more awake, leaning up on one elbow, looking down at him. The whites of his eyes shining in the dark. “You’re rambling, Credence,” he says, his voice sharp. “Spit it out.”

“I kissed her,” he says, his voice very small, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why.”

Percy is silent, staring at him in consideration.

“Please say something,” Credence whispers.

Finally: “You should fuck her, Credence.”

His stomach sinks. “What?”

“You should fuck her,” he repeats. Deadpan. Credence can’t tell if this is some well-executed sarcastic joke. He doesn’t know sarcasm very well. He can never figure it out.

“Percy, I don’t want to fuck her,” he says, his voice barely a whimper, “It wasn’t like that. I don’t know why I did it. I’m not… I’m not like that. Percy, I’m so sorry. I love you. Only you.”

He’s babbling again and he flinches when Percy reaches out, but it’s only to run a palm across his cheek. A gentle caress, not the blow he expects.

“I’m not angry, puppy,” he says, “Believe me.”

“Oh.” Credence feels nervous, still half convinced this is some kind of cruel joke. Ma, pretending to not have noticed a minor transgression, waiting until he’s let his guard down to punish him. Kids at school, inviting him to play with them out by the swing sets only to pull down his pants and shove him to the ground, run away laughing. He’s learned to always check over his shoulder. 

“I think,” Percy says slowly, toying with one of Credence’s loose curls, wrapping it around his finger and then letting it spring back into place, “You should have sex with her. Just to see if you like it.”

“I don’t get it,” Credence tells him, “I don’t… I’m with you, Percy. I’m gay.”

“It’s not always black and white, baby,” Percy laughs, and Credence’s face burns at the easy disclosure of yet another simple fact of life that he doesn’t know. “You’ve never fucked anyone before. Maybe you’d like it. You trust her, right?”

“I guess so,” Credence mumbles, face half-pressed into the pillow, voice muffled. “I only just met her.”

“You have my permission,” Percy teases, “You little slut. Can’t keep it in your pants for even an hour when I’m not around, huh?”

His mind floats back to that night in the hostel, the thin line of Draco’s body pressed to his, their tongues in each other’s mouths, how for one split second he’d truly believed he could want somebody other than Percy. He still hasn’t told him, he likely never will. As much as Percy is playing up his indifference, Credence knows it’s because Luna is no real threat to him — Credence has no interest in being with her, or any girl, or anyone but Percy. It’s a game, and not one that Credence can ever win.

Resigned to defeat, Credence moves closer to Percy, turning so his back presses into the heat of his chest and he can feel the man’s slow heartbeat against his spine. He wonders if Percy is asleep until he feels his arm move to wrap around his middle, hand trailing down his bare belly to the waistband of his boxers. He runs one fingertip teasingly under the elastic, the slow-growing stubble poking out from sensitive skin. Credence trembles, not moving an inch, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the moment.

Percy cups his quickly hardening length through the thin fabric, squeezing gently, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the spot where the cotton is growing damp with precum. He’s humiliated by how _wet_ he gets but Percy savours it, always half-moaning words of praise when he feels how slick the boy has become. _So good, Credence, baby, so ready for me._

He’s already vibrating with need. They’ve been so busy preparing for the tour and recording interviews for magazine features on their new EP that they’ve gone days without so much as touching each other. Credence can hardly go a few hours, his hormones in full power after a life of suppression.

Percy tugs down the waistband until his cock springs free, hard and wanting, dripping with desperation. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as kiss Credence’s neck —  he simply strokes him firmly until he comes, moments later, shuddering through it, curling into himself as Percy milks him for every last drop.

“Remember,” Percy finally says, a low growl spoken into the skin of his shoulder, “You will always be mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikesssss creeeedence!!!
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yes, he’s opened the doors, but he’s also confined the rooms to the House of Percival Graves._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dead dove do not eat 
> 
> you KNOW what's coming

In the morning, as they dress and stuff their messily strewn clothing back into tightly packed suitcases, Credence implores him: “Please don’t say anything to Luna.”

Graves raises an eyebrow. “Say anything about _what_ , Credence?”

The boy lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t play games, Percy. You’re either angry or you’re not. Just don’t say anything. Promise?”

Graves grins, smacking him on the back of the head, ruffling his already messy hair. “Won’t say a word.”

  
The news of Credence’s momentary tryst was met with astonishment more than anger. Never could he ever have imagined Credence would go off and hook up with a girl. He knows that isn’t exactly what it was — still, it’s surprising. He isn’t too bothered. He really doesn’t see the kid running off to marry Luna Lovegood, or any female human being for that matter. If it had been another man it would be a different story; he still sickens at the thought of Gellert’s undeserving hand on his boy. This is interesting to him, though, and strangely enough he kind of does want Credence to have sex with her. It doesn’t make sense, not even to himself, but the thought of Credence fumbling his way nervously through heterosexual intercourse is oddly appealing. He’s had the pleasure of guiding the boy through his sexual awakening, showing him the ropes, both literal and figurative, of everything his sweet little head could possibly come up with and be turned on by. This is something he can’t offer himself, though, and the idea is arousing in a strange way.

He almost wishes he could watch it happen in a laboratory, though he laughs at himself for the thought. A scientific experiment. See how Credence conducts himself when confronted with a woman’s naked body. He’s likely never seen one, save for maybe his little sister when he had to bathe her in the chapel washbasin or whatever.

Graves feels a little guilty for being so mean, even in his own head. Above all of his own interest and curiosity, he does want Credence to have the opportunity to experiment. Yes, he’s opened the doors, but he’s also confined the rooms to the House of Percival Graves. Credence has never had a chance to explore anything or anybody else.

They meet up with everybody at the complimentary breakfast bar, Graves trying hard to force the thoughts from his head, at least for now. Tina already has a mouthful of bagel and Luna is sitting with Newt, talking in between bites from matching bowls of honey-doused Cheerios. 

“Bus leaves in fifteen,” Tina informs them, snatching a banana from the fruit bowl and going back to join the others. Graves is too tired to even consider anything but coffee, but he insists Credence eat at least a slice of jam-covered toast.

“You’re a growing boy,” he says in a mock-stern voice, and Credence rolls his eyes.

“Okay, _daddy._ ”

Graves puts an arm around his slim waist and squeezes hard, fingertips digging into tight muscle through the fabric of his button down. Credence winces. “Hey!”

“Watch yourself, little boy.” Graves kisses his head and releases him as they walk over to the table. He catches Luna staring at them, most likely watching the exchange. She gives no sign of being bothered, but rather smiles very brightly as they approach.

“Morning, you two. How are you feeling?”

“Hungover,” Graves declares, “And ready to sleep the whole ride to Cleveland.”

 

He stays true to his word, drifting off in his bunk the moment they hit the road and only waking when Credence sneaks in beside him, kissing his hairline until he mumbles _okay, okay, I’m up._

The next few days is essentially a loop of him saying _okay, okay, I’m up_. They go through the cycle of soundcheck, playing a set, greeting their fans outside, and then collapsing into their hotel beds in the early hours of morning. The whole process is much easier now that they don’t have to worry about setting up or tearing down their own equipment, or even planning their meal times or daily schedules. Graves could live without the Instagram comments and awkward interactions with fans, but this part of success he’s certainly okay with.

On the fifth night of the tour, after their show in Denver, Credence disappears once they get back to the hotel without so much as a word. Graves texts him, a little irritated, because for once he isn’t drunk and tired enough to pass out immediately upon getting into bed.

 

_What’s up, where’d you go?_

 

The response comes quickly. _I’ll be back in a bit._

 

That answers neither of his questions, but Graves decides not to press the issue. He gets into bed by himself and flips through the pay per view movies offered on the hotel TV. A lewd selection of pornography, but he really isn't about to pay for porn in a hotel when his boyfriend is supposed to be here with him. Besides, it would likely show up on a bill on Langdon’s desk and he doubts that would go without comment.

So he puts on some dumb new action movie, a remake of a remake, and loses himself in the mindless drone of explosions and gunfire. At some point near the end, almost two hours in, the door beeps and clicks and Credence enters.

His hair is dishevelled, his shirt untucked, and his cheeks are rosy. Eyes bright.

_Jesus fucking Christ, he really did it._

He says nothing as he slips into the bathroom for a moment and then returns in a tee shirt and underwear. “Whatcha watching?”

Graves raises one eyebrow. “Is that a real question, or are you just waiting for me to ask?”

A little smirk tugs up the corner of the boy’s mouth. “Dunno. Up to you, if you’d rather answer or ask.”

The attitude on this kid. Graves barks out a laugh, snatching up the remote and turning off the TV. “Get over here, you little player. What did you do?”

“I did what you told me.” There’s an air of smugness in Credence’s voice but Graves can tell it’s a front. He’s nervous, his hands are fidgeting though he tries to hide them under the blankets as he gets into bed beside Graves.

“You lost your straight virginity?”

Credence gives him a strange look but finally nods. “I guess so.”

“Hm, I’m impressed,” Graves says, and he isn’t being facetious. He really didn’t think the kid would go through with it, thought he’d seize up last minute and revert to the trembling and terrified virgin he’d been when Graves first met him. He pulls Credence into his lap, hands resting on the boy’s belly, Credence letting his head fall on Graves’ shoulder. “Tell me what happened.” Credence sighs and closes his eyes as Graves traces circles around his navel with one fingertip.

“Um, we were talking after the show, and she asked if I wanted to hang out again, you know, in her room,” he starts, breath hitching when Graves’ fingers move up to his nipples, hands underneath his shirt, gently twisting and tugging. “Um, and so we went, and we were just talking, you know, listening to music. And then I thought I should maybe try, because you told me to—”

And there it is: not a rebellion, not a pathetic attempt at making Graves jealous, no. Credence was simply following orders, desperate for instruction. What Graves tells him to do must be the right thing. After all this time, after all the ways Graves has unintentionally hurt him, done the wrong thing for him — still, Credence believes with all his might that Graves knows best. He feels a pang of guilt at the thought. His intention wasn’t to drive the boy to do something he didn’t want to do, to make himself uncomfortable. 

Credence’s hips lift as Graves’ hands trail back down to his belly, tracing over the outline of his half-hard cock. “So I kissed her again, and then I asked her. If she wanted to, you know, go further.” Graves squeezes him through his underwear. Credence gasps softly. “And she asked about you, if you’d be mad, and I told her you said it was okay for me to try. So I asked if it was okay with her, and she said it was. She said it wasn’t her first time. So it’s not like I would be… taking anything, you know.”

Graves’ heart warms at the little display of concern. Credence’s own virginity had been a sacred thing, untouched through months of their own relationship. The boy must have grown to truly value the concept.

“And I told her I’d never been with a girl,” he continues, his hips rocking slowly into Graves’ hand now where it presses firmly, giving the boy something to rut against, chasing the little bursts of pleasure. “And she told me she’d show me how, make sure it was good for me…” he trails off as Graves’ hand dips into his underwear, grasping his cock, silky and smooth in his hand. He urges the boxers down with a push of his wrist and begins to stroke the boy in earnest.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” Credence’s voice is pitched a little higher now as he struggles to keep his breath steady. “So we kept kissing for a while, made out, and she put my hands on her. On her chest, and it felt really nice. I liked… I liked touching them.”

“Touching what?” Graves prompts, and he feels more than sees Credence’s face redden.

“Her… breasts.”

“Good boy,” he says in a low voice, pulling on his cock long and hard. “What happened next?”

“Um, we got undressed, into our underwear. And she took her bra off, and then I touched her… her breasts, bare, and her nipples were hard. I put my mouth on them.” He shudders, hips bucking. “Percy, I’m gonna…”

Graves squeezes the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm and reaches into his pocket with his other hand, pulling out a little individual packet of lube, something he’s come to realize is vital on tour. He squeezes some onto his fingertips and then slips them down beneath Credence’s tight balls, teasing at his entrance with slow circles. 

Unprompted, Credence continues. “She… she took my hand and put it down between her legs and I felt that she was wet. She said it felt really good. And then she took off her underwear and showed me how to touch her there.”

“Did you like it?” Graves pushes one finger into the boy, the tight heat surrounding him, squeezing his finger.

“It was… it was nice,” Credence says breathlessly, “Um. I liked when I went inside of her. I put one finger, and then two, and it was scary but I liked it.”

“Did it make you hard?”

“Yes,” his voice cracks into a whisper, faltering, and he moans as Graves pushes another finger into him. 

“Just like this,” he murmurs, curling his fingers and pressing into the spot that drives Credence practically into convulsions, “Is this what you did?”

“Um, kind of,” Credence pants, “And then she took off my underwear and started touching me, and she said I could go inside her, but I had to wear a condom.”

_Thank God,_ Graves thinks. He and Credence had the conversation early on — he’d been recently tested and cleared, Credence was a virgin through and through — and he doesn’t want to go risking things now.

“Did she have one?” Graves asks. He knows Credence definitely doesn’t, they’ve never once used a condom.

“Yeah,” Credence whimpers, “Yeah, and then… and then she put it on me, and then she turned me on my back and… and sat on me and put me inside of her. And I didn’t really move, she mostly did, but it… it felt so good, being inside something. It felt so good.”

He’s babbling now, Graves working him open with three fingers, prodding his prostate with every thrust, the other hand pulling languidly on his cock again. He’s considered the possibility of letting Credence top him, of course, though only in an abstract way. Certainly not for a while. In all of his sexual encounters, he’s never once been on the receiving end, and he isn’t exactly eager. Any interest he has in it now is purely in the thought of granting Credence that feeling again, and not with somebody other than himself.

“Did she stay on top the whole time?”

“No,” Credence moans, hips lifting, and Graves takes the opportunity to take out his own achingly hard cock and line it up with the boy’s entrance. He pulls him back down slowly, pushing up into him, Credence’s mouth opening in a silent ‘O’. When he can finally speak again, he continues. “She told me to try going on top, and so we. We flipped over, and she wrapped her legs around my back and I was really nervous but I started. You know, moving, and she kept telling me I could go _faster_ and _harder_ and not to worry because I wouldn’t hurt her, and so I did, and… and then I came, and I was inside her but I had the condom on. So that’s okay, right?”

He sounds nervous and Graves kisses the side of his face, the closest to his mouth he can reach. “The condom was intact after, yes?”

“Mhm,” Credence says, twisting on top of him, hips moving in search of more friction from Graves’ slowing hand.

“You’re fine, then,” Graves reassures him, picking up the pace again. “Did you make her come, Credence?”

“Um. Yeah, I. I asked her what I could do, you know, to make her feel good, and she told me how to… with my mouth, you know?”

Graves is hit with the sudden image of Credence eating a girl out and it turns him on more than he’s willing to admit. His face, flushed and sticky and wet, eyes hooded, lips shining and dripping as he kisses and sucks and licks, reaching beneath himself to touch his hardening dick, too aroused to resist…

“Did you like it?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

“Um, yeah,” Credence’s voice shakes as he fucks himself down on Graves’ cock, twisting in his grip. Graves thrusts up to meet him, slow and steady. “I was scared that I wouldn’t know how but it wasn’t too difficult. I just… I just did it for a little while and then it happened.” He's descended into complete abstractions and vague descriptions and Graves takes pity on him, doesn’t push further.

“Can you come for me now, puppy?” He murmurs, stroking Credence faster, thrusting in deep. The boy cries out and comes all over his hand, back arching off of Graves’ chest before he falls back onto him, dead weight, gasping. Credence is boneless and weary and so Graves flips him over and fucks him into the mattress, one hand gripping his hair, fast and rough until he comes, moments later, deep inside his boy. Claiming him. Marking him. 

When they finally curl up together, breath slowing down, sticking to each other’s sweaty skin, Credence quietly says, “I didn’t _not_ like it, but I don’t think I would want to do it again.”

“You weren’t uncomfortable, right?” Graves asks, keeping his voice light. “I don’t want you to feel like I pressured you…”

“No,” Credence says quickly, “You didn’t. I wanted to try it. I think I’m just… pretty gay.”

Graves laughs out loud at that. “Well, at least now you know. Is it gonna be awkward?”

“I don’t think so. I hope not. We were still talking and joking afterwards.” He hesitates. “I think she understands.”

Graves thinks back to his own one night stands — usually heavily influenced by alcohol or other various drugs, always half-forgotten by morning. He’d never hooked up with a friend and just gone back to friendship the next day. He remembers one very blurry night in the depths of his partying phase where he and Sera momentarily considered it; he shudders now at the thought. Thank _God_ they hadn’t gone through with it.

He does hope that Credence and Luna can move forward despite any lingering awkwardness, though he has grown a little jealous of their close friendship. Funny, he encourages the boy to sleep with her and doesn’t mind at all when he does, but then he feels indignant when he sees them laughing together or talking seriously, sharing secrets and telling stories. It’s irrational and unfair, he knows that. Credence deserves a friend. As much as he has Tina and Newt, they came as a package deal with Graves, and they are several years older and feel more like parents than close friends. Luna is his age and seems to have similar issues born out of a similar past. Credence finally seems a little bit more stable and maybe Graves should be thanking her for that.

Graves makes a mental note to try and reach out, to befriend her as well. Maybe that will put his jealousy at rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> umm so bright side credence isn't gonna leave percy and be straight!
> 
> dark side they are not so great at communication and this definitely isn't the end of their issues whoops
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo what are you guys thinking of the new trailer?? i'm really hoping they aren't making credence a villain because the whole abused-kids-become-abusers trope is pretty fuckin tired. i might have to fight jk rowling
> 
> anyway, things are getting better in this verse. or are they??? we'll have to see
> 
> [hmu on tumblr to talk fic/trailer](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)

It’s nearly June by the time the tour ends, and New York is warm and balmy when they get off the bus at the warehouse. The crew carries out the bulk of their equipment but Credence insists on helping and the rest of the band follows suit. Tina gives the two of them a ride home and Credence feels beyond relieved to be back at their apartment.

Percy checks their mailbox before they head upstairs, pulling out a small stack of paper — bills, a statement from Republic, a couple flyers. He frowns at one of the envelopes and hands it to Credence. “For you.”

Immediately, Credence’s mind travels to the stories he’s heard of stalker fans, finding out where musicians live and sending them intimate letters before showing up and murdering them. His apprehension must show on his face because Percy laughs. “You gonna open it or are you just gonna stand there staring at it?”

Credence’s face burns as he carefully tears open the envelope. Inside is a single piece of paper, folded several times to fit. He unfolds it and finds a crayon drawing, carefully rendered with thick and steady lines. He recognizes himself in stick-figure form, his hair drawn like a bowl on his head, a smaller blonde stick-girl by his side. They’re both wearing U-shaped smiles, their eyes big round scribbles. The bottom of the page bears a message in blue pen, neatly printed, obviously by somebody other than the artist:

_Hello Credence. My teacher is helping me write this letter to you. I hope you are having fun with your band. I heard that you are travelling all over America to play your guitar. I hope that people like you and they come to your concert. Are you still in love with Percy? Are Tina and Newt having fun at your concerts too? I miss you Credence. I hope you come home soon. Love, Modesty._

His heart sinks and right away he feels the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes. He silently hands the page over to Percy, turning away, fist pressed to his mouth, blinking hard. 

“That’s very sweet,” Percy says finally, “I’m glad she has a good teacher.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Ma doesn’t know she’s writing to me,” Credence says in a thick voice. He breathes out slowly. “I should visit her. I just don’t know how to go back there.”

“Does your mother pick her up from school?”

Credence shakes his head. “She takes the bus. Usually Ma is out at meetings for the church until dinnertime.”

“Well, let’s pick her up from school tomorrow,” Percy urges, “We can take her for dinner, get her some ice cream, all of it. We’ll have a good time. Get her back before your mother’s home.”

Credence sniffles, nods. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

 

——

 

They arrive at Modesty’s elementary school at quarter to three. Credence wanted to get there early to ensure she wouldn’t be swept off on the bus before they arrived, but now he balks at the intimidating front doors, staring at the school from the passenger seat window of Percy’s car, feeling a little uneasy. “Are they gonna think I’m some kind of predator coming to kidnap her?”

Percy laughs. “I don't think so. Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No, it’s okay. You can wait out here.”

He shuts the door behind him and walks up the steps, bombarded with recollections of his own primary education at this same school. The memories aren’t exactly fond and so he pushes them aside. The thought of seeing Modesty is enough to carry him despite the slow drip of anxiety in this veins.

The secretary at the desk gives him a once over, eyes lighting up with recognition. She’s young, most likely knows the band, and Credence feels a little embarrassed. “I’m here to pick up my sister. Modesty Barebone?”

“Her class is just down the hall, room 114,” she informs him with a knowing smile. “You can head down there now, Credence.”

His suspicions of her cognizance confirmed, he hurries off down the hall to where the door marked 114 lies slightly ajar. Just as he’s about to knock it flies open, leaving him face to face with a young woman with dyed purple hair, an expectant smile on her face. “Hello! You’re here for Modesty?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says awkwardly, “How did you know?”

“They paged down from the office. You’re Credence, right? I’m a fan of your band. Don’t be creeped out. But I play your music for the class sometimes.”

“Oh,” he says, feeling himself flush, “Thank you.”

“Miss Tonks,” she tells him, holding out her hand. He shakes it. “You can call me Dora, though.” She turns then, to a class of rowdy children playing at various stations throughout the room. “Modesty?”

He sees her now, sitting in the corner, drawing on a big white pad of paper. Her face lights up when she sees him and she runs across the room, leaping into his arms. He stumbles a little but holds her tight, laughing. “Hey, bug. I got your letter.”

“Did you like it?” She asks, voice turning accusatory. “I sent it last week, Credence! I thought maybe you didn’t like it.”

“Hey, I was on tour,” he says defensively, setting her down to stand in front of him, looking up at him expectantly. “We just got home yesterday. Percy suggested we should come pick you up and take you out for burgers and ice cream.”

“Is Percy here?” Her voice is practically bursting with excitement. “Miss Tonks showed me a video where someone was asking you questions about the band. Percy seems so nice. Will you tell him I’m sorry I wasn’t that nice when he came over to look for you? I was just scared.”

Percy went to the church looking for him? Credence’s stomach twists. He hadn’t known that.

“You can tell him yourself,” he says, trying to ignore the guilt eating away at his insides. “He’s waiting in the car.”

Modesty squeals with glee and Dora squats down in front of her. “Hey, you’d better go pack up your backpack!” She runs off and Dora turns to him. “Can we talk for a sec?”

“Sure,” he says, a little surprised, and they step out into the hall, leaving the door halfway open.

“I’m just a bit concerned,” she says vaguely, “About Modesty. I don’t really have any concrete reason to be, but I’ve had her in my class two years in a row and she’s seemed kind of off this year.”

_Likely since I left, she’s the target now,_ Credence stops himself from saying.

“I went away on tour in October,” he says instead, “She might just be sad because I’ve been gone. I also, uh, moved in with my boyfriend afterwards. I haven’t seen her very much recently.”

“Ah.” Dora glances into the room where Modesty is carefully putting her notebooks into her grey backpack. The same one she’s had since kindergarten. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help her out, let me know, okay? She’s a great kid, she’s so smart. Definitely my favourite.” She lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Don’t tell the other brats.”

Credence grins. “My lips are sealed. Thanks, Dora. I appreciate that.”

Modesty emerges, backpack on and ready to go. As they walk out of the school, Modesty chattering the whole way about how great Miss Tonks is and how she gets to draw pictures every day at lunch time and last period, Credence struggles with the nagging feeling growing stronger in the pit of his stomach. He could turn around, walk right back into Dora’s classroom and tell her everything.

_Modesty isn’t just sad because she misses me. Modesty is traumatized because her older brother would disappear for days when he was locked in the cellar, because she watched her mother beat him halfway unconscious on a regular basis. Modesty is hurting because I left her alone in that house with said mother and a sister who likely won’t defend her. Modesty is terrified because now she’s the easiest target._

Dora seems to genuinely care, her concern expressed of her own will, her offer coming from the heart. Maybe she could help, maybe she could get Modesty out of that house, take her in. Credence’s thoughts are getting ridiculous but he can’t help it. They’re nice thoughts, far nicer than that of Modesty stuck in that dingy church house, though he reminds himself with a grimace that it’s about to undergo some major renovations with his money.

Modesty climbs into the backseat of Percy’s car, greeting him with a shy smile. “Hi, Percy.”

“Hello there, Modesty,” he says, looking at her in the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the parking lot. “How was your day at school?”

“So good,” she says earnestly, and then heads into a five minute account of everything she did today. It’s a blessed reprieve; Credence tips his head back and closes his eyes, half-listening as Percy drives them out to his favourite gourmet diner. 

Modesty is just as overwhelmed by the menu as Credence had been that first night on tour when Percy had taken him out for dinner. Luckily this menu has pictures, and Credence points them out to her. “Which one looks good?”

She points to a double-stacked burger next to a pile of fries. “That one.”

“That one it is,” Percy says, reading off the order to the waitress who scurries away, returning almost instantly with apple juice for Modesty, coffee for Percy and lemon soda for Credence.

“So how’s it been at home?” Credence asks, trying to keep his tone casual.

Modesty shrugs, her shoulders drooping. He kicks himself for ruining her mood already. “It’s okay, I guess. Mama keeps talking about how you’re going to Hell and that I should stop talking about you. I said I want you to come back and she got really angry.”

“Did she hit you?” His voice tightens.

She shakes her head vigorously. “No. She never does that. She just yells a lot.”

“Okay,” Credence says, relieved. “I’m sorry, Modesty. She shouldn’t yell at you. But I’m glad she doesn’t hit you.”

“Credence?” She says nervously, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, anything.” He puts his hand over hers where it rests on the table.

“Do you love Mama?”

That’s certainly not what he’d expected. He’s prepared to answer any questions she has about his relationship with Ma: how badly she’s hurt him, why she does it, the way it’s affected him throughout his years. Though she’s young, he doesn’t want to censor the truth from her, and if she’s had to stand and watch it happen she certainly deserves to be a part of a mature conversation about it. This question, however, he isn’t prepared for.

“I… I think I do,” he says finally, “I know she and I haven’t ever gotten along, and I don’t think she likes me very much, and I don’t really like her either. But I think that I love her, and I think that somewhere in that heart of hers she loves me.” He gives her a small smile, running his thumb over her soft little hand. “I think that we always love our family, no matter what they do.”

“I don’t think I love her when she says mean things about you,” Modesty says in a low whisper, as if the woman herself might materialize next to their booth at any moment. “And I really didn’t love her when she was hitting you. Credence, do you remember that time when I was really little, and she wouldn’t stop, and you were bleeding so much you had to go to the hospital?”

“I remember,” he says quickly, braving a fleeting glance at Percy, who looks horrified. “Why?”

Modesty’s eyes narrow. “I was only little, but that was the first time I didn’t love Mama.”

Credence sighs, leaning back against the wall so he can turn and face her. “It’s okay to have confusing feelings about her. You love me, and so you don’t want anybody to hurt me. She hurt me and so you were angry. Right?”

The girl nods solemnly.

“Right. Just like if someone hurt you, I would be angry. I would probably hurt them right back.”

Modesty smiles. “You couldn’t hurt anybody, Credence. You’re as nice as a mouse. And just as strong as one, too.”

That earns her a chuckle from Percy and she looks bashfully pleased. 

“Well,” Credence sniffs in faux-hurt. Their burgers arrive then, Modesty’s taller than either of their own, surrounded by golden fries doused in ketchup. Her eyes widen at the sight. She’s never eaten out before, not that he knows of. 

“Don’t give yourself a stomachache,” he says, unable to resist his tendency to worry about her. Percy smirks at him. He’s sure it’s fascinating for the man to see him in the care-taking role. It’s an old habit; he spent so much of his life looking out for Modesty when Ma wouldn’t, making sure she was dressed decently for school, not in ratty old clothes, making sure she got her homework finished and ate enough, often sneaking her extra bits of dinner from his own measly plate.

Modesty is already digging in, squishing the burger down in her hands in an attempt to fit it in her mouth. The food is delicious, and Credence eats only half of his own burger before he’s pleasantly full. He’s come to recognize his penchant for overeating, predisposed to shovel food into his mouth as quickly as possible, something Percy has pointed out countless times. It’s his natural instinct of stuffing himself whenever food is presented. His childhood had taught him well that you never know when you might get more.

After dinner they go get ice cream at a shop on Rivington Street and eat it in Central Park, watching the ducks float on the pond. Percy and Modesty have a serious conversation about ducks, which somehow becomes about clowns, and then about lawyers. Modesty thinks she wants to be one — a lawyer _or_ a clown, apparently. 

The time trickles by far too quickly for Credence’s liking and soon enough it’s nearly six.

“Alright, bug, we’ve gotta get you home before Ma shows up,” he says gently.

“ _Cre_ -dence!” She whines, “I don’t wanna go back there.”

“I know,” he says, guilt tugging at him unpleasantly. “Listen, we’ll pick you up again next Wednesday, okay? Promise. We can do this every week.”

“For real?” Her eyes are saucers, flitting back and forth between himself and Percy.

“For real,” Percy confirms, “Maybe next time I’ll let you drive my car.”

“He’s joking,” Credence hisses, giving him a look as Modesty jumps with excitement. He herds them back to the car and they drop Modesty off a block outside the steps of the church. Ma’s car isn’t in the house’s driveway yet, to Credence’s relief. Hopefully Chastity is out studying.

“Have a good night, bug,” Credence says sadly, “I love you. I’ll see you next week.”

He feels strangely close to tears on the way home. In a small and breaking voice he asks Percy, “Am I doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, “You are. You’re making sure she’s safe and you’re spending time with her. We’ll figure out a way to get her out of that house, baby. But for now you’re doing the best you possibly can.”

Credence nods, staring out the window, and Percy keeps his eyes on the road but rests a hand on Credence’s knee. It’s immeasurably comforting, the slow movement of his thumb, the gentle pressure. By the time they get home, he’s already planned out their next few visits with Modesty in his head.

 

——

 

In the warm glow of mid-June, Credence gets a text from Luna letting him know she’s playing at the Blind Pig later in the evening. The fact that she’s still playing in bars at all is a travesty in his mind, but he’s excited at the chance to see her and so he drags Percy along with him and they watch her from a table off to the side. After her set, they weave through the crowds of people, finding her sitting at the bar by herself, a drink in hand.

“Hey!” She jumps off the stool and hugs Credence tight. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too,” he says, “We should hang out sometime, maybe write some songs together.”

“Good to see you, Luna,” Percy says, giving her a hug as well before she hops back up on her stool.

“You here by yourself?” Credence asks, glancing at the empty seat beside her.

“Oh, no, I’m here with my boyfriend,” she says with a little smile, “You know him, actually — oh, there he is. Hey, Gell!”

Credence’s heart sinks. He turns to see Gellert Grindelwald walking up to the bar, that same sly smile plastered on his face.

“Hello, Credence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe we're already nearing the end of this fic! there is much more on the horizon that i'm super excited to share with you.
> 
> i've been talking prompts/hcs with some tumblr friends and developing more ideas for the future of these characters - if anyone has anything they'd like to see in this verse, [send me a message/ask!](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)

It is a rare occasion that Percival Graves is truly at a loss for words. No matter how painful or awkward or shocking a situation proves to be, he usually finds it in him to compose himself, or at the very least keep it together enough to seem composed.

However, confronted with Gellert Grindelwald, that smarmy look on his face, Credence frozen at his side, Graves can’t find a single word to say. It doesn’t matter, though, because before he can even open his mouth Credence is mumbling _‘scuse me_ and staggering off toward the restroom, dragging him along by the hand. When they reach the small room, thankfully otherwise unoccupied, Credence falls back against the door, breathing in hard, gulping breaths, hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes darting around.

“Credence,” Graves says gently, hesitant to reach out, not wanting to send the boy into an even deeper spiral of panic. “It’s okay. I need you to breathe slowly for me, okay? In and out. Can you count for me? Just up to twenty. Come on, puppy.”

It takes a moment but finally his timid voice shakes out: “One. Two. Three…”

When he makes it to twenty he’s significantly calmer but still shuddering, sobbing without tears. Graves enfolds him in his arms then, rocking slowly, chin resting on top of his head. 

“We have to do something. Luna… he’s gonna fuck with her. I _know_ he is. Why is he doing this? How did he find her? How—”

“Shh,” Graves hushes, “Slow down. We’ll talk to Luna, okay? I’m sure she has no idea what he’s really like. You know how much of a mask he wears. We’ll talk to her when he isn’t around.”

“I don’t wanna see him ever again,” Credence whimpers, clutching at the sleeves of Graves’ jacket, “He still thinks he won. He did. We never got him for… for the picture. He’ll never have to answer for anything.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry for that,” Graves says grimly, “But I swear to God if he ever puts it up again, we have the best lawyers in the country tracking it, they’ll confirm it was him, they—”

“I don’t want to have to go through that just to get him,” Credence says angrily, “I don’t want to sacrifice my own reputation, my _life_ , just so that maybe he’ll get a slap on the wrist for once.”

Graves is taken aback by the boy’s fury, though he doesn’t disagree. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Let’s get out of here.”

They sneak out along the opposite wall from the bar, out of sight of Gellert and Luna. Credence wants to text her immediately, tell her _get out now_ , but Graves convinces him to wait. If Gellert sees it, all hell could break loose, not to mention he’d have a head start to construct some kind of story to tell Luna. She’s sweet and gentle, but she isn’t stupid, and Graves tells himself she’ll come to her senses once Credence speaks to her. He has to believe that to keep himself from going insane.

 

——

 

Early the next morning, Credence sends Luna a text, simple and vague enough not to attract any suspicion.

_Hey, need to run something by you. Can we get coffee soon?_

Her response comes a few minutes later.

_Sure. I’m free tomorrow — meet me at Starbucks on 58th at 1? :)_

Graves wishes he could crawl into Credence’s brain, leech out all the anxiety and take it on himself himself. Hook them up to each other and funnel it into himself intravenously. It hurts him to see the boy so deeply unsettled: shaking, barely speaking, dropping things, struggling to go about their daily routine. 

It’s Wednesday, and so that afternoon they drive to Modesty’s school to pick her up. They arrive late because on their way out the door, Credence drops a glass of water in the kitchen and collapses to the floor, sobbing over the shards of broken glass, knees of his pants soaking through with water. Graves sits beside him and rocks him slowly until he calms down. By the time they pull up outside of the school it’s ten after three and Credence is panicking.

“She’s gonna be so upset,” he says, “She’s gonna think I forgot, oh fuck, she probably got on the bus, she’s probably going home, maybe we should—“

Graves puts a hand on his shoulder as he parks outside and points to the front doors. Modesty is standing, wispy in a grey dress, a purple-haired woman crouched beside her. They appear to be talking animatedly. Credence breathes out a sigh of relief and practically tumbles out the door in his haste.

“Modesty!” He calls, hurrying over to her, “I’m so sorry I’m late, bug. Hey, Dora.”

Graves watches Credence talk to them for a few minutes before he ushers Modesty back to the car where she jumps excitedly into the backseat. “Hey, Percy!”

“Hey, kid,” he says, smiling at her in the rear view mirror. “You hungry?”

They go get Chinese food and Graves watches fondly as Credence tries to teach Modesty to use chopsticks, failing just as miserably as he had the first twenty times. The boy still asks her about her day, about Miss Tonks (who Graves has to assume was the purple-haired woman who'd kindly waited with the girl until their arrival), about new drawing’s she’s made, but Graves can tell his mind is distant. He does his best to engage with her but there’s still agitation in his face and his twitchy movements, and his eyes keep darting around the restaurant as if he expects Gellert to show up at any moment.

Credence cries after they drop Modesty off, head resting against the window, shoulders shaking. Graves drives in silence, one hand on the boy’s knee, the radio quietly struggling through a staticky pop song. At home Graves makes him hot chocolate, but he only drinks a few sips before going to bed. He turns restlessly through the night, kicking off the blankets, whimpering in his sleep. Three times Graves wakes him from nightmares, kissing his cheeks and whispering soothing words into the tender spot beneath his ear, holding him close until he falls back into unconsciousness.

In the morning, his eyes are ringed purple from lack of rest and he sulks at the kitchen table, picking at his cereal until it goes soggy and he pours it into the garbage. Graves keeps his mouth shut, loath to stress him out even more. He’s going to go meet Luna at one o’clock and hopefully after that, this disquiet will be settled.

The hours until then feel endless. Graves decides to make him a real breakfast, for which Credence thanks him with a murmur and a slow kiss, but they don’t speak much aside from that. Credence barely eats. There’s a heavy tension in the air and it brings back awful memories that Graves generally doesn’t visit: those weeks on tour where he and Credence didn’t speak, the feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Credence leaving the room with Gellert, the slow mutual suffering throughout.

Their kiss before Credence walks out the door to meet Luna, declining a ride from Graves, is frantic. Open-mouthed. As if Credence is headed into battle, as if he might not return. 

After the boy leaves Graves sits in the living room, staring out the window. He should get his laptop out and answer some emails, he should try to write a song, he should at the very least check up on their social media. He can’t make himself do it. He hasn’t gotten drunk since the end of the tour, so he could do that — though it’s barely past morning, and he thinks that might be an issue. He doesn’t want to upset Credence.

So he gets his phone and calls Sera. She answers immediately, as if she's been waiting for his call; he smiles. Since the early days of high school when they first met, they’ve always had a unique sort of psychic bond, always texting each other at the same time, thinking the same things.

“What’s up, Graves? How was the tour?”

“It was great,” he says, trying to sound convincing. He doesn’t fool her.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing about the tour, that _was_ great, there’s just… an issue that came up last night.” She’s silent, expectant, waiting for him to elaborate. “Can I stop by to talk?”

“Uh…” she pauses for a second. “Yeah, sure.”

He hears a voice in the background saying _who’s that, honey?_ and he smiles to himself. “Unless you’ve got company?”

“No one important,” Sera tells him, and he can tell whatever unfortunate man it is believes she's answering his question.

“Alright, I’ll be over in fifteen.”

“Sounds good.” As he’s hanging up, he hears her saying _hey, you’ve gotta go, I have stuff to do._

Sera’s aversion to long term relationships is hilarious to him, mostly because up until meeting Credence he'd always been the same way. Sometimes she still looks at him like an alien when he says something a little too soft — commitment was never his  _thing,_ nor has it ever been hers. When Sera feels like it, she'll hook up with a guy and if he's lucky, she'll keep seeing him for a week or two, at least until she grows tired of him or gets too busy. She has the pick of the litter; she’s beautiful and smart, but she’s entirely unreachable.  


Whichever sorry puppy-dog of a man had been occupying her bed is gone by the time he arrives, and she’s got a pot of coffee just beeping it’s completion as he steps through the door.

“A disappointment?” He asks as she pours him a mug. She shrugs, her face completely unreadable.

“He was fine.”

They settle down in her sparsely decorated living room. It’s a pretty impressive apartment — Sera comes from old money and isn’t hesitant to show it. He doubts many law students can afford a place like this. 

“So,” she prompts, “What’s the issue?”

He sighs, low in his throat, taking a sip of coffee. “Remember Gellert Grindelwald? The photo of Credence and all that?”

She winces. “Unfortunately. Hey, I did a good job with that, though. It hasn’t been reposted since.”

“Thank God,” Graves agrees, “and thank you. Anyway, this Luna girl we went on tour with—”

“Luna Lovegood,” Sera smiles, “I saw her play downtown last year. She’s good.”

“Yeah, she’s really sweet too. Credence likes her a lot. They got pretty close on tour.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” Sera cringes, “Did Gellert invite her on tour or something?”

“Worse,” Graves sighs, “Apparently they’re _dating._ ”

Her eyes widen. “Fuck, how’d that happen?”

“You tell me,” Graves says darkly, “He’s got a way of manipulating people. Besides that, he’s twenty seven, and she’s only nineteen.”

“You’re twenty seven and Credence is twenty,” Sera reminds him, looking at him over the rim of her mug as she takes a sip, eyes sparkling. “But I didn’t say that.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s different and you know it. Anyway, we ran into them last night at Luna’s show and Credence panicked. Now he’s out getting coffee with her and hopefully making her aware of what a piece of trash he is.”

Sera lets out a slow breath. “That’s fucked up, Graves. I don’t know what to tell you. Gellert is the lowest of the low.”

“I just don’t want him fucking with anyone else the way he fucked with Credence.”

He stays at Sera’s for a while longer, changing the subject to her current summer session classes and internship at a law firm. He lets his mind float away from its current troubles, pointedly not checking his phone, keeping it tucked away in his pocket. He will go home and Credence will be there and he’ll tell him it was all a mistake, and there’s nothing to worry about, and they’ll be okay.

After all, they always are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does it feel a little ominous? hmm
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lil shorter but the last one will be posted on friday and it's crazy long to make up for it!

Credence’s hands shake as he scans the hectic Starbucks, looking for Luna. He spots her at a table by the window, a paper cup of tea in her hand, staring out at the street with a peaceful expression. It only sets him more on edge.

His mind flips pages back to that night in Denver, her queen sized bed in Hotel Teatro, the way the city lights shone in and illuminated her delicate skin. The serene expression on her face as he fumbled nervously above her, trying to keep himself collected. The way she’d responded so naturally to his proposition, as if it was the most normal and sane thing in the world, though it felt like anything but.

“Of course, Credence,” she’d said, “If that’s what you’d like to do.”

And truly, honestly, he had wanted it so badly in that moment. Wanted her softness, the heat of her body enveloping him, every shift of his weight on hers sending sparks up to detonate behind his eyes. He has only ever been the one getting fucked, the one being opened and taken, and he loves it, he really does. Craves the feeling of Percy deep inside him every moment he’s awake. But when he slid into her, fitting perfectly inside, her body warming and surrounding him, he couldn’t help but think _I was meant for this._

A silly thought, born out of intoxicating pleasure, but a thought regardless.

And she had been so tender, so kind and patient, kissing him and stroking his face, not reacting to his nervousness, not minding his immaturity and inexperience. Guiding him and teaching him, telling him exactly what felt good for her, letting him find his rhythm and angle. After he came, shuddering and clutching at her, apologizing profusely, she’d shushed him and told him he felt amazing inside, that he was a natural. And then she let him taste her, her sacred sweetness, like holy wine against his tongue. He was terrified and entranced, paralyzed and obsessed. When she came she said his name, breathless, like a prayer.

He will never do it again. But he will think about it forever.

As he approaches her, he tries to force the blush to drain from his face. He feels like she can read his mind sometimes, the way she stares at him with those round and shining eyes, like she’s hypnotizing him without his knowledge. He turns his thoughts back to Gellert and that does a good job of wiping out any residual arousal.

“Hey, Luna."

“Credence!” She smiles. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Um.” He sits down, placing his hands on the table, rapping his fingertips against the wood. “Luna, I have to tell you something.”

“Sure.” Her face is inviting, expectant. He looks at her for a moment, looks away, clears his throat.

“Uh, Gellert, your boyfriend?” She doesn’t respond, just keeps looking at him. Her face is searching, as if reading every movement, every facet of his expression. “He… when I was on tour with him, he tried to get me to leave Macusa and join his band. He. He made me do things with him, he tried to steal my songs. And then after we got home he uploaded this picture online, this picture he took of me when I was with him one night, and I was. I was naked and drugged.” By the end of it, his voice is breathy and shaking. He can’t meet her eyes.

She doesn’t speak for a moment. Finally, she says, “I know.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes shoot up, disbelieving, “You _know_ all of this? Why are you…”

“Credence, listen.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, conspiratorial. “Gellert wants to get me on his side because he heard my music and thinks he can profit from it in some way. He sees talent and he wants to feed off of it, just like he did with you. I don’t know exactly what his endgame is, he’s probably gonna try to steal my songs or sign over my earnings to himself or something. He thinks I’m this total ditz, I’ve really been playing it up.” She looks proud of herself as she leans back into her chair. “I’m gonna take him down. I just needed some time. He’s already giving me things I can use. He’s been stealing songs from smaller bands for years, I snuck onto his laptop and found all the old files.”

This is probably the last response he’d expected to get from her. “Oh. I… I don’t know what to say.”

She grins. “Do you trust me, Credence?”

He nods, mute, wide-eyed.

“Okay. I’ve been collecting all the songs he’s stolen on this.” She hands him a pale blue USB drive. “Take it. I don’t want him going through my stuff and finding it. I just need to figure out how to get into his email, I’m certain he’s sent some incriminating stuff to his bandmates about it. Once I’ve got a bit of solid proof I’m going to get my dad to write a smear piece on him for the newspaper. He doesn’t have a huge readership but a story like this will get picked up by other outlets, I’m sure of it. Especially since he used to be so famous.”

Credence takes a breath, turning the USB over in his hands. “This is a lot.”

“I know,” she says apologetically, “I’m sorry you have to deal with his bullshit again, but it won’t take long.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks doubtfully, “Gell’s dangerous. He’s shown that much. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself, Credence,” she says with a small smile, and then gets up. “I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to go wait for him at his place but he won’t be home for another couple hours. I’m gonna try to get into his email.”

“Be careful, Luna,” he says quietly, and hugs her tight. “Call me if you need anything.”

 

——

 

When Credence gets home Percy is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a bowl of leftover pasta, forking penne noodles into his mouth. 

“How’d it go?”

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Credence tells him, dropping onto one of the tall stools at the island.

“Did you tell her what happened? Did she freak out?”

“Luna knows everything. She’s trying to take Gellert down. She’s infiltrating him like she’s some kind of spy in a terrorist organization. She’s got all this evidence of him ripping off songs and she’s gonna get her dad to write a piece about it for his newspaper.”

Percy’s eyebrows go up. “Definitely not what I thought you were gonna say.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Credence chews at his bottom lip. “I’m worried about her. She’s trying to get into his email right now. I’m scared of what he’ll do if he finds out what she’s up to.”

“She’ll be okay,” Percy reassures him, “She’s smart.”

At that moment Credence’s phone rings and he fumbles to answer it, breathless. “Luna?”

“Hey. I just went through all his desk drawers. Credence, you aren’t going to believe what I found.”

“What?” He demands. _What else could this creep possibly be doing?_

“He’s basically got a hit list of up and coming artists. All the young ones. What their strengths are, what weaknesses he can use to manipulate them. He’s like a comic book villain, I swear to God.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Credence hisses, and Percy looks at him impatiently. “Luna, can you send everything to me? And then get the fuck out of there.”

“Got it,” she says, “I’ll email you in a sec.”

The moment Credence hangs up the phone Percy is on him for the details.

“She’s gonna email me what she found,” Credence tells him, “Apparently he’s got some list of every young artist he’s planning to exploit. I hope it’s enough.”

“God,” Percy breathes, “It should be. I mean, that paired with all the songs he’s stolen, it’s evidence enough for the general public at least. Not like she’s opening a court case.”

“She should,” Credence grumbles, and his phone lights up with the notification of an email from Luna. 

Gellert's list is handwritten — Luna must have found it in his bedroom and scanned it. He hadn’t been stupid enough to entrust his moronic bandmates with the thing, but he’d been just shortsighted enough to leave a hard copy in his home. It bears just under twenty names, a few of which he recognizes. Each name is notated with the musician’s unique talents and skills, as well as their upcoming tour plans and releases, and, repulsively, a column titled _Weaknesses._ He feels sick when he sees his own name, near the top, tracing it across the rows.

_Abusive family. Gay. Likes older men. Stupid/gullible._

Percy snatches the phone from his hand at the sight of Credence’s expression. He scans the list, eyes narrowing. “This fucking piece of shit, I’m gonna end him.”

“I’ve got all the songs, too,” Credence mumbles, “Luna gave me her USB. She found all the original recordings and then Gellert’s versions. They’re all smaller bands, independent artists, people who don’t have the means to take legal action even if they found out what he did.”

Percy can read him far too well. He senses the dejection in his tone, the humiliation. He sets the phone down and looks at him steadily. “Credence, don’t think about that list. Everybody has weaknesses. But normal people don’t _prey_ on them like that. And,” he adds, hand over Credence’s on the countertop, forcing him to meet his eyes, “You aren’t stupid. Okay?”

“Okay,” Credence says softly, still not quite believing him. After all, he was stupid enough to fall into Gellert's charm and coercion, stupid enough to believe all the empty promises and declarations, the man's bravado. Stupid enough to push Percy away, only to come crawling back, leaving the whole mess for the man to clean up for him. To take care of him.

"Credence." Percy reaches up, cradles his jaw, nudging his face up. "Look at me." 

He does, trying to coach his expression to not be so miserable and self-deprecating. 

"You are the smartest person I know," Percy says in a quiet voice. "You are the kindest person I know. You are the most talented person I know. That has always been true and will always be true. You are so good, Credence. I want you to believe me. I want you to say it."

Credence's lips turn up in a reluctant smile. "I'm good."

Percy laughs. "You're good, puppy. So good. Come on, let's go get dessert. I want cake."

They swing their intertwined hands like a teenaged couple as they walk down the street to Jacob's bakery. Percy squeezes Credence's fingertips, weaves their hands tighter together, despite the heat, despite the sticky and sweltering air around them. It's summer, and the sky is blooming with light, and Credence is holding the entirety of the world in his sweaty palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe we've already reached the end of this instalment of the story!
> 
> thank you all for being with me still and for all your messages/kudos/comments <3
> 
> there are still several parts of this story to come, but i want to extend this warning to you now: from this point on, this story is going to get very dark. if you're happy with this ending and with the happiness of cre and percy, maybe consider this the ending. i am so, so proud of the works that are coming up, but i understand if some of you don't want to see the story go there! just a gentle little notice.
> 
> also: i think with future works i'm going to be updating less often. they're all mostly finished, but when i update this fast i've been noticing the comments/feedback is dwindling a little. i think if i post less often i'll have more time to get feedback and thoughts and comments from all of you, which are the things that keep me going with this story. so i'll let you all know the posting schedule once i introduce the next part!
> 
> again, thank you all for reading. <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)

Two weeks later, a scanned copy of Gellert Grindelwald’s handwritten list of victims is circulated amongst every major music publication on the internet and beyond. There are the die-hard supporters who don’t believe it, of course, there always are — fans who vouch for his innocence, say _he would never do this_ and _i met him once, he was so nice to me._ Graves does his best to ignore those comments. The media outlets thankfully left Credence and Luna out of it entirely, citing an anonymous source who supposedly provided the document. Also noted in the articles is the vast collection of stolen material that Gellert has been passing off as his own. YouTube videos with titles like _15 Songs Gell Grindelwald Stole - Listen Here!_ pop up by the minute, everybody quick to make mash ups along with their own webcam-recorded reactions.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing Gellert can actually be charged with. Nobody on his list was underage, and it isn’t a crime to make a list like that anyway. The bands and artists he stole from could press charges but that’s up to them, and Graves knows Credence wants no part of it. It’s enough to take the man down a few notches, to ensure that whatever was left of his career is now tainted forever.

They invite Newt, Tina and Luna over for a morbid celebration of the death of Gellert’s career. They all toast to Luna with delicate flutes of the expensive champagne that Graves insisted on purchasing for the occasion.

“To the end of Gellert Grindelwald’s reign of terror,” he declares, holding his glass high, “And to Luna Lovegood, our favourite little renegade.”

She grins, face pink, eyes sparkling. They’re already a few bottles deep in red wine, lounging about in the living room of their apartment, an array of far-too-lavish finger food spread across the counter and dinner table. Graves dressed Credence up in his nicest black dress pants, fitted and sharp, a long-sleeved black button up tucked in with a belt. Credence had rolled his eyes, saying _you know this isn’t a_ real _funeral, right?_ but humoured him, of course, and looks stunning now, leaning back into the sofa, a tipsy grin on his face. His recent haircut is shorter than usual, his curls barely covering his ears, and it makes him look older. Graves watches him through his happily drunken haze, overwhelmed with love, taken over by pride and wonder.

There’s a knock at the door and then Sera walks in, not bothering to wait for Graves to open it for her. “I’m here for the wake,” she grins, taking in the scene in the living room, “Or the party, I guess.”

Even Langdon makes a brief appearance — Graves doesn’t tell him the exact nature of what they’re celebrating, though he’s sure the man can assume — followed by Sirius, who’s outspokenly pleased by the current events.

“The guy’s a fuckin’ creep, and not even the kind of fuckin’ creep that still makes somewhat decent music,” he drawls after a few generously filled drinks poured by Graves himself. “Y’know, sometimes these assholes are actually _good,_ and then it sucks that they’re assholes. But he’s not even good. He came into the studio once and I ended up blowing him off, said I was too booked up. The guy’s a dick, wouldn’t listen to a word I said or a single idea I had.”

Soon enough the apartment is packed. Queenie, freshly home on the tail of a European tour, shows up with Jacob, carrying a large tupperware box of brownies. He winks at Graves and Graves laughs. One of his special recipes, for sure.

Around ten, Luna pulls Credence aside and they talk quietly for a moment. She grins and squeezes his arm and then darts off into another room. 

“What’s up?” Graves asks him.

“She’s gonna invite her dad to come by, if that’s okay. He is the one who published it after all.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Graves kisses his forehead, guiding him into the kitchen. “You want a brownie?”

 

Xeno Lovegood looks just as eccentric as Luna describes him. Hair as long and white-blonde as hers, darting eyes and an odd, clashing assortment of clothing; he walks into the room and attracts everybody’s attention.

“Hi, Mr Lovegood,” Credence says, offering his hand to the man. Graves stands back, watching, enjoying the strangely fascinating scene before him. Credence, introducing himself politely to the father of a girl he slept with, as if he’s the hopeful and timid boyfriend taking her out on a date. Desperate for the man’s approval. For some reason it’s enticing to Graves, the same way the idea of Credence having sex with a girl, fumbling and awkward, had been. Seeing him in a mask of normalcy, the sometimes ugly and un-sexy reality of being a young adult.

Mr Lovegood - _oh, call me Xeno, please -_ has the same airy tone of voice as his daughter, the same appearance of always being mentally somewhere else. Not that he doesn’t come off intelligen — he certainly has an odd genius about him — but rather that his mind retreats to another room, one much more interesting than this one. 

Xeno doesn’t stay for long and when he leaves, Luna does as well, saying her goodbyes. By the time they depart Credence is looking a little off, swaying in place, staring long and hard into nothing.  Graves checks his watch. It’s been just under an hour.

“You…” Credence trails off and then faces Graves, mouth forming a sloppy smile. “You drugged me, you old creep! How much weed was in that brownie?”

"Enough." Graves cups his face and presses their grinning lips together. “And technically, Jacob drugged you.”

Credence isn’t the only person in the room who’s having his brain slowed down by Jacob’s famous brownies. Even Graves eats one, a smaller one, not wanting to be too incapacitated in case Credence has a bad reaction. Tina and Newt are giggling uncontrollably as Queenie and Jacob recount stories of their trip to Costa Rica, finishing each other’s sentences and gasping in faux-amazement every time they do.

Credence is sprawled on the couch, eyes half-shut, mouth open. He’s staring at the coffee table, his half-fullwine glass from earlier in the night stained red around the rim. He doesn’t even look up when Graves flops down next to him. 

“You okay, baby?”

“Huh?” Credence’s head turns slowly, eyes glazed. “I can’t remember anything.”

Graves chuckles. “I know the feeling. You wanna go to bed?”

“Mm, it’s scary,” he whines, curling into Graves’ chest, “I can’t remember what I said to you just now.”

“You just had a little too much, honey, I’m sorry,” Graves pets a hand soothingly through his hair, lips at his temple. “How much did you drink?”

“Donno,” Credence mumbles, “A lot.” His head lolls into the crook of Graves’ arm and Graves looks over at Tina and Newt, who are watching, half-concerned and half-amused. Tina mouths _is he okay?_ and Graves nods, waving a hand.

“Anyone smoke?” Sirius pipes up, pulling a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket. Graves’ ears perk up — he’s not a regular smoker, but get him drunk enough and he’ll partake in any vice. He kisses Credence’s forehead again, tells him he’ll be right back, and follows Sirius out the door.

They sit on the front steps of the apartment building and Sirius cups a hand around the flame of his lighter, frowning as he tries to avoid the wind. “Was Gell the one who put up that photo of Credence?”

Graves is surprised. Generally people skirt around the subject, far too uncomfortable to address it directly. “Yeah. He was.”

Sirius shakes his head, finally getting his cigarette to light and inhaling deeply. “Fucker. Glad you got him. You should press charges for that.”

Graves shrugs, accepting the zippo from Sirius’ outstretched hand and lighting up quickly. “Cre didn’t want to. It was too much for him. He wants to just forget about it.”

“Fuck, don’t blame him,” Sirius winces, scratching at his head, his long and unruly hair pulled back in a bun. “I feel bad for the kid. He seems a little… shy.”

_Shy._ That’s the word people always use when they mean wimpy, gutless. Stupid. It burns at Graves’ throat with the cigarette smoke, causing his mouth to sour.

“You’d be surprised,” he says coolly, “At how well he can hold his own. He’s smart.”

“Didn’t mean it that way,” Sirius insists, “I think he’s great. So talented. Just glad he’s got you to look out for him.”

They finish their cigarettes and head back inside. There’s still music playing from the speakers on the shelf, a mix Tina made, and quiet laughter in the room, but Graves can’t see Credence.

“Bathroom,” Jacob tells him before he can ask, “With Newt.”

“With _Newt_?” Graves says, amused, “Is there something I should know about?”

Tina gives him a look. “Credence is a little sick. Too much wine. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him that brownie.”

“Fuck,” Graves sighs, hurrying into the bathroom where Credence is slumped over the toilet, Newt kneeling beside him, rubbing his back. His hair is dishevelled and his shirt is stained. Newt looks up when he enters, giving Graves a small smile.

“He’s okay, just not feeling very well.”

Graves drops down beside him and Newt draws back, letting Graves take over comforting the boy. “You okay, puppy?” He turns back to Newt. “How long’s he been puking?” The toilet is a lake of dark red, far too many glasses of red wine coming back up. 

“‘Bout since you left,” Newt tells him, “I’ll go get some water.”

Credence groans, head lolling down to rest on his arm where it’s bent over the seat. Graves shushes him, hand dipping under his shirt to rub his soft and sweaty back. “A little too much, huh, baby? Gotta learn your lesson somehow. I remember my first time throwing up drunk, it was awful.”

He feels Credence’s body clench and then heave as he vomits more dark red fluid, most of it landing in the toilet but some on the tile floor, a good amount dripping down his chin. Graves gently turns the boy’s face towards him. His eyes are barely open and his mouth is slack, stained red around his lips. He takes the warm washcloth Newt had left and wipes him off as best he can before he surges forward again, shoulders shaking, and Graves doesn’t know how he could possibly have that much wine in him to expel.

The door opens and Queenie pokes her head in. Her face falls at the sight. “Oh, honey.” She tiptoes across the room, bearing a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. She brushes back Credence’s hair with one delicate hand, kissing the top of his head. “Poor little thing. You’ll feel better soon.”

Credence moans out what Graves assumes is a _thank you_ and Queenie smiles.

“We’re going to head out now. All of us. We’ll see you guys soon, okay?”

“Thanks, Queenie,” Graves says gratefully. “Get home safe.”

When Credence’s body finally collapses, nothing left to offer up, Graves carries him to bed, the boy a dead weight in his arms. If he suddenly starts throwing up again so be it; Graves can’t bear to see him suffering on the bathroom floor any longer. At least he’ll be in a comfortable bed.

“Come on now,” he murmurs as he deposits him into the sheets, “Let me get you undressed.”

Credence lifts his limbs lazily as Graves tugs off his shirt and pants, leaving him shivering in just his briefs. Graves pulls the sheets and duvet up over his curled up body. “You feel better?”

“A little,” Credence sighs, not opening his eyes. “Am I gonna die?”

“No, Credence,” Graves says with a chuckle, “You’re fine. You just need to sleep. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

“Mhm,” Credence hums, moving closer as Graves slips into bed beside him, undressed and exhausted. He pulls the boy into his arms, feeling his slow pulse, his sweaty warmth, the little puffs of his laboured breaths.

 

——

 

Langdon calls early in the morning, and for the first time Credence is the one moaning about how hungover he is. Graves just laughs at him and drags him out of bed. 

“We’ve got an interview today. It’s gonna be in a radio studio, but the video’ll be broadcasted live online. So you better get up and shower.”

Credence grumbles all the way, even as Graves washes his hair and holds him under the stream of water, ceasing his complaints only when Graves leans him against the tile wall and gets him off lazily with one hand, the other pushing his fingers rhythmically into the boy’s mouth. Credence drops to his knees and sucks him off, staring steadily into his eyes the whole time, making Graves practically tremble with adoration. With obsession. The boy’s cheeks hollow and he sucks hard. Graves spills down his open throat, swearing, legs practically giving out.

  
They meet Tina and Newt at the radio station headquarters where the interview is set to be filmed.

“Did _you_ remember this was happening?” Graves asks them as Credence yawns, leaning against him, clutching a paper cup of coffee in one sweater-covered hand.

“No,” Newt admits, “Not until Langdon called us.”

“Not to sound like an ungrateful bitch, but there are just so _many_ ,” Tina complains, “How many times can we answer the same four questions?”

“Apparently as many times as it takes for Langdon to be satisfied with our press reputation,” Graves sighs, checking his phone. “We should probably go in.”

 

Their interviewer, a radio host named Barty Crouch, introduces himself swiftly and then shows them to a studio room where they each have a mic and a set of headphones waiting for them. Credence withers a little at the sight of the large cameras positioned throughout the room, a lit up sign by the door blinking "ON AIR”, waiting for them to begin.

“You all comfortable?” Barty asks, typing something into his laptop at lightning speed and then flashing them a perfectly white grin. And then he’s signalling to someone outside the room and mouthing a countdown.

“Heeeeell- _o_! This is Barty Crouch and you’re watching KOXR Live. I’m joined in the studio today by a band that have been quickly moving into the spotlight — Macusa. Newt, Tina, Percival, Credence, thank you for being here.”

They all murmur their _thank you_ s and Barty starts to shoot rapid-fire questions at them: when their full length is to be expected, whether or not they have another tour planned, how Credence feels this lifestyle compares to a classical education at Ilvermorny, whether or not Newt was really raised to be a child pop star. Essentially the same line of questioning they always get, and Graves shoots Tina an amused glance, reminded of her earlier tirade.

“So, I’m sure you’ve all been made aware of the recent scandal in Gellert Grindelwald’s career, considering you got your start opening for Deathly Hallows on their tour.”

Graves’ eyes shoot over to Credence, who’s staring at the floor, hands clenched and white-knuckled on the tabletop. Langdon hadn’t prepared them for this. In fact, he’d specifically promised them they _wouldn’t_ be asked about Gellert at any point in their career. Now they’re live streaming to probably thousands of viewers online. He feels panic welling up within him.

Thankfully, Newt speaks up. “We’re aware of it. We don’t have much to say on the matter.”

“Hm, is that so?” Barty’s eyes are dancing. “Even though your boy Credence here was at the top of the list?”

“Gellert Grindelwald is irrelevant to us,” Tina says, her voice rising, “He is jealous of Credence’s talent and success, as he’s jealous of every young talent on that list.”

“Interesting.” Barty clearly has more to say, and Graves feels ready to get up and walk out. This is not what they signed up for. “Now, let me bring to light a rumour that’s been circulating recently about a questionable photograph that was uploaded last November.”

Oh, fuck no. Graves’ mouth drops open and he can _feel_ Credence’s panic, the boy’s eyes wide as saucers, face going pale. Tina and Newt are looking at Graves and he returns their gaze helplessly.

“This photograph showed young Credence in a bit of a _situation_ ,” Barty says, grinning, as if the whole situation is hilarious to him. “He — oh, kid, it’s okay. We’ve all had our nights.”

Credence is flushed and looking horrified as Barty addresses him. Graves is beyond ready to get up and leave at this point, now he’s leaning more towards knocking this asshole out. 

“We’d like to talk about our new music,” Tina interrupts, “Why don’t you ask us about that?”

Graves reaches over and puts his hand on Credence’s arm, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, puppy,” he says, away from the microphone, so quietly that nobody else could possibly hear him. Barty sees it happen, though, and smiles at them.

“Oh, how sweet. I’m sure the fans will love that little display. You _were_ the one who took that photo, right?”

“What?” Graves is dumbfounded.

“No shame here,” Barty smirks, “Everyone can see you’ve got him on a tight leash. Isn’t that right, guys?” He must be addressing the fans, glancing over at his laptop every few seconds, where comments are streaming in. Graves feels deeply unsettled knowing he can't read them.

“Do you get paid more for interviews when you make your subjects uncomfortable?”

Graves, Tina and Newt all turn to Credence in shock. The boy stares at Barty dead-on, voice not shaking in the slightest. Barty’s mouth opens but Credence doesn’t even give him a chance to respond before continuing.

“They must compensate you somehow, because I can’t see what you’d gain from this, personally. Unless you get off on it. You couldn’t be an artist yourself, so you decided to exploit real artists for a living. Is that what it is? It’s a pretty boring story, I think. I know you think you can talk down to me because I’m quiet and I’m young. I know you probably think it’s funny to make gross comments about a gay relationship because it makes you uncomfortable. Am I wrong about that?”

Once again, he waits until Barty opens his mouth and tries to reply before he continues on.

“You can say whatever you want online, or to your friends, where it’s clear that you’re no better than any of those lowlives on the internet who fantasize about my life in order to fill a void in their own. But to bring me here and put me on a live video stream just to humiliate me is disgusting. You should be fully ashamed of yourself and your pathetic career. And for the record, I can tell you that Percy didn’t take that photo, although it wouldn’t be any of your business if he had. Gellert Grindelwald took that photo after he drugged me in his hotel room.” Credence stands, taking off his headphones and calmly setting them down on the table in front of him.

Still shocked silent, the rest of them follow his lead and stand up. Before they leave the room, Credence grabs Graves’ face and kisses him hard in full view of the camera. Then he takes his hand, throws a playful little smile back at him and leads them all out of the room.

They don’t speak until they’re out of the building, making a straight line to where their cars are parked at the edge of the lot.

“Holy _fuck_ , Credence!” Tina shrieks, “That was amazing! Jesus, I don’t even know what to say!”

“That was pretty great, Credence,” Newt agrees, “I won’t be surprised if it’s all over the news tomorrow.”

Credence smiles, suddenly looking a little shy. “Thanks, guys.” He turns to Graves. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Graves says faintly, still unable to put into words or even sounds how he feels about what just happened. He’s pretty sure he’s in actual shock, detaching from reality, unable to process the event. He drives them home, still not talking, and Credence stares out the window the whole time. When they’re finally back in their apartment, Graves shuts the door and turns to find Credence facing him, expression set with defiance.

“Are you mad at me?”

Graves shakes his head in awe. “No, Credence,” he says, voice practically a whisper, “No. Not at all.”

“Okay.” Credence looks a little unsure but Graves grabs his face in both hands and kisses him deep and slow. They stand there for a long time, pressed together, mouths moving feverishly before Graves pulls back.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“Mm. Okay.” Credence intertwines their fingertips and leads Graves into the bedroom. Once inside, he pushes him down onto the sheets, standing before him and watching him with that beautiful feline gaze.

“Credence,” Graves whispers, staring up at him in amazement.

Credence smirks and then pulls his sweater slowly over his head, revealing the long line of his thin body, illuminated in the dark room by the single slat of light that pours in through the curtained window. His jeans come next, pooling at his feet, and he steps out of them, crawling up onto the bed.

“Undress,” he orders, and Graves gapes for a moment but then he does, hastily tugging off his tee shirt and unzipping his pants. Credence grabs the waistband and helps him slide them off before straddling him, hands on his shoulders, looking down with a serene smile.

“You’re so beautiful,” Graves tells him, “I’m so proud of you.”

He is. Credence’s face is cast with shadows that carve out his angelic features perfectly, his curly hair outlined with a blue halo of mid-afternoon light. His head is tilted slightly in consideration, hips rolling subtly against Graves’. He can feel that the boy is hard already, though there’s no trace of his usual shame or embarrassment.

Credence’s hands trail down his chest, circling his nipples before grabbing a handful of the thin, dark hair and tugging gently. Graves shivers, eyes wanting to fall closed, but he can’t miss a single second of _Credence._

The boy leans his head down and kisses him, tongue pushing lazily into his mouth before moving down his body, planting kisses in a wavering line down his front before mouthing at him through the cotton of his boxer briefs, making Graves tip his hips up into the contact. “ _Fuck,_ Credence.”

Then there are fingers tugging at the waistband, pulling his underwear down and off, letting his quickly hardening cock spring free. Credence looks at it with furious hunger and it gets him even harder. The boy has his mouth on him in an instant, taking him in deep, Graves gasping and grabbing at his hair. Credence’s hands shoot up and grab his wrists, pinning them down to the bed at his sides.

What _is_ this? Graves doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure he fucking loves it.

Credence looks up at him through narrowed eyes, licking at the tip before sucking him down again until he’s clenching and scrabbling at the bed, and then the boy pulls off, licking at his lips, a string of spit still connecting his plush lower lip and the tip of Graves’ cock. The sight makes his eyes roll.

His wrists are released as Credence quickly rids himself of his own underwear and then they’re both naked in the blue glow, Credence’s cock pressing up against his belly, dripping with precum. It makes Graves’ mouth water. He feels ready to beg just to taste him.

He doesn’t have to, though. Credence moves up his body, close to his face.

“I want you to eat me out,” he says. And he doesn’t ask twice.

He sinks down over Graves’ face, knees planted on either side of his head, and Graves goes about ravishing him with an unspeakable fervour. He licks at the boy’s entrance, flat-tongued and wet, sucking at his rim as Credence moans above him, clutching the headboard. His right hand grips Credence’s hip while his left travels down to tease at his hole while he mouths at the boy’s balls. He slips one finger inside, slowly starting to open him, and Credence cries out at the combination of tongue and finger playing with his hole. 

From below, he sees Credence grab his dick and start to pull on it frantically, head tipped forward. His hips stutter and he comes, squeezing himself hard, hand dripping with his spend.

“Keep going,” he gasps, riding Graves’ face now, working his dick back up to hardness. Completely astounded, Graves does, pushing his tongue in alongside two fingers, stretching Credence’s hole as quickly as he can. Credence shifts back suddenly, hand dropping to cup Graves’ cheek, guiding his dick to the man’s lips.

“Open,” he murmurs. Graves does. Credence's dick is already sticky with cum and Graves tastes the salty-sweet familiarity of the boy, taking him deep into his mouth and Credence watches him with such intense focus as he fucks his mouth in short little strokes. He wants to tell him he can go harder, deeper, but he lets the boy keep control.

Before he can come again, Credence pulls out and squirms back to where Graves’ cock is hard and straining up between his legs. In one swift motion the boy sinks down onto him, making Graves groan and fall back, Credence once again grabbing his wrists and pinning them down as he begins to move.

Graves has never asked Credence to ride him before and now he asks himself why the fuck he hasn’t. It’s a beautiful sight, the boy’s head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open, abdomen clenching and cock bobbing with every movement. He moans wantonly, pitching forward again and kissing Graves hard and then pulling back only inches, staring at him with that same dark hunger as when Graves first got naked.

“You fucking miracle,” Graves marvels, “Look at you.”

“Look at me,” Credence repeats, an amused little whisper. 

Graves wants to touch him but Credence keeps him pinned, rolling his hips and gasping when he angles his thrusts to drive Graves’ cock right into his prostate. He keeps that position, eyes rolled back, mouth open, fucking himself hard on Graves’ cock. All Graves can do is watch helplessly as Credence brings himself to orgasm, his dick untouched, pulsing in empty air, shooting all over Graves’ chest. Graves’ breath hitches and he comes harder than he has in a long time just as Credence lets go of his wrists. Graves grabs the boy’s skinny hips and pushes him down hard on his cock, forcing his cum deep inside of him, holding him there until he’s finished.

Credence breathes hard, licking his lips, giving Graves a manic grin. He runs his hands over his chest, rubbing his sticky cum into the soft hair there. Graves doesn't even bother to protest..

“God, you’re a marvel,” He says, shaking his head. “Didn’t see this coming.”

Credence collapses into bed beside him and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling as his breathing slows. After a moment he turns to Graves. “You think people are gonna talk about what I said?”

“I can guarantee it, puppy,” Graves says honestly, “Don’t worry. You did a good thing. People are gonna love it.”

He fumbles for his phone on the bedside table and turns it on to see a barrage of texts. He catches Langdon’s name, the man having texted all four of them as a group, and opens that first, braced for fury.

 

_You guys - I am SO sorry. Went over an approved list of questions with Barty before the show and that obviously wasn’t on it. I will do everything I can to get that asshole fired. But CREDENCE! WOW! I'm proud. This is all over the internet and there’ll be a lot more people who want to do interviews and talk about it. Let me know if you’re up for that. Sorry again, but way to go._

 

Okay, so he can forgive Langdon. He moves on to the next message, which is from Sera.

 

_Ummmmm?? You didn’t tell me Cre was a badass??? Dude, that video is everywhere. Like, people have been talking about it in all my classes. At LAW SCHOOL. Credence is like the face of the fight against asshole interviewers. Also I think the face of gay rights?_

 

Graves shows Credence that message and he rolls his eyes with a laugh. “I mean, I wasn’t trying to be the face of anything. But I guess that’s fine.”

Tina has texted him too, first sending several YouTube links which Graves can only assume are re-posted clips of Credence’s denunciation.

 

_Credence's name is trending on Twitter LOL. We just got like five million emails. Also someone made gifs of you guys kissing before we left? Like really slow-mo_ _dramatic ones. You should do a live stream on Instagram. Like, PLEASE. I will pay you._

 

Graves looks at Credence. “You wanna?"

“I don’t even know what that means,” Credence admits, “Like, we take a video and all our followers can see us?”

“Yeah, and send messages and all that.”

Credence shrugs. “Sure. I guess.”

Graves opens Instagram and switches over to the Macusa account. “Should we put shirts on? Pretty sure I'm gonna have to shave my chest to get all that shit off.”

A shirt is thrown at him as Credence laughs, pulling on his own. “Whatever. I’m not getting out of bed, though.”

Graves puts on his shirt and pushes a hand through his hair, trying to look at least somewhat presentable and not like he just had the best sex of his life. Credence’s face is still flushed and glowing, his hair a complete mess, and Graves tucks it behind his ears as best he can before hitting the live stream button. He holds the phone out above them and smirks at the sight of Credence peering curiously at the screen, eyes looking even bigger in the phone’s camera. All at once the viewers start to pour in, sending little comments and hearts so rapidly that Graves can barely keep up.

 

_ Fuck Barty Crouch that guy's a total creep! FIRED!! Go Credence! _

_ Did Gell Grindelwald actually drug you? He's going down _

_ Macusa fans unite to fuck up GG!! Credence we love you!!! _

_ omg creedence your so cuuuuute _

 

“Fuck yeah,” Graves says with a laugh. Most of the comments are professing their undying love and support. There are a few trolls but he ignores them.

Credence pokes his head in closer, his face bug-eyed and filling the screen. “Thanks for sharing that video,” he says, “I appreciate it.”

There’s an influx of comments along the lines of _CREDENCE!!! YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL!! I LOVE YOU!!_

Credence blushes a little. “Thanks guys.”

Graves wraps an arm around his chest and pulls him back down so they’re both in the frame. Credence falls back onto him, giggling, and someone writes _Can you guys kiss already_

“We do,” Credence says playfully, “All the time.”

“Like this?” Graves asks, grabbing the boy’s jaw with one hand and squishing his cheeks together, turning his face and kissing his smushed lips. The hearts pour in and they both fall into laughter.

“Okay,” Graves finally says, “Just wanted to say thanks, guys. We should do this again sometime. Bye!” And with that he shuts off the stream, sets his phone aside and wrestles Credence into the bed, kissing all over his face, making the boy squirm and try to bat him away.

“Credence,” he breathes, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Credence murmurs. He sighs against Graves’ lips and his eyelids flutter open, staring at him. “We’ll be okay, right?”

Graves hugs him close, coaxing his face into the crook of his neck, surrounding and sheltering him. He can feel Credence’s quick little heartbeat, strong against his chest, a comforting rhythm that Graves never gets tired of. 

“Yes, baby,” he says quietly. “We’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it isssssss
> 
> i had to give cre his little badass moment. also, i had a request from someone who wanted to see him 'topping from the bottom'!
> 
> [still taking prompts for this verse as we get deeper into the story. hmu on tumblr!](http://cannibalteacups.tumblr.com)


End file.
